On Common Ground
by Muskie
Summary: Cameron finds something to share with House, but it's not what she ever would have wanted. HCam eventually.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Do I own _House_? Don't I wish. Just don't sue me.

**A/N:** Reviews are fun and encouraged!

OOOO

Allison Cameron was feeling pretty smug. That wasn't a feeling she was particularly used to, so she had no intention of hiding it. The grin on her face made other people grin and wonder what she was up to. Those other people at the hospital really liked her and enjoyed seeing her look happy. They were more used to seeing her look harried and harassed, but that was understandable given whom she worked for. To her face, they encouraged her when possible and tried to accommodate her needs – labs, machines, etc. – more than they did anyone else in her department. Behind her back, they whispered that one of these days she was going to haul off and knock Greg House into next week; there were assorted pools in the different departments and the cash prizes grew weekly.

Cameron's smugness at the moment was not due to the silent support of the hospital staff. She was on her way to pick up some x-rays from Dr. Randall Crawford in his office. That in and of itself was not enough to bring on this lovely feeling, of course, but the fact that she had been dating Randy for the past couple of months helped. The biggest contributor to her current mood, though, was that House had no idea whatsoever that she was seeing anyone, let alone a staff member. He had thought he was insulting her by sending her out of a diagnostic meeting to play currier for the films. She was smug because he was doing her a favor and didn't even know it.

Randy had asked her out on more than once before _Stacy's Return_. (Cameron had a tendency to think of that time as italicized and capitalized. It was more dramatic that way – like a horror movie.) Once they had begun dating, she convinced him that House not knowing about it was a lot safer than the alternative. She had not admitted to the relationship to anyone, not even Foreman or Chase, and she had made Randy promise he wouldn't tell anyone either.

Consequently, she and Randy rarely got to see each other at work. They couldn't meet for lunch or stop and chat in the halls like a normal couple would. They only got to see each other during their time off. He had not been thrilled with the subterfuge, but she wouldn't have it any other way. No one needed to know. She was not going to be a topic of the hospital grapevine again if she could help it. After that embarrassing little speech she had given House when she saw him watching Stacy with Mark, she had decided that she wouldn't let her emotions and her need to share get the best of her again. Being so open had been nothing short of mortifying once she had the chance to really think about what she had done.

She didn't regret asking House on a date – or blackmailing him into it, whatever – but she had regretted telling anyone else about it. When Stacy had swept back into his life, the pitying looks from her friends had been a bit more than she could handle. Wilson, Foreman, Chase, Cuddy…God, she had even told Stacy, which was amazingly stupid. Ever since May, the hospital's new legal counsel had spent an awful lot of time giving her condescending looks whenever she had the chance.

In a tiny corner of her mind, Allison knew that it was only House's opinion she was most worried about and she realized that was not a healthy way to deal with her current relationship, but she just couldn't manage to erase that instinct from her mind. Instead, she ignored the nagging voice in her head and allowed herself to bask in the knowledge that she was enjoying an adult relationship with a _nice_ guy. Randy was not prone to insulting her at every turn or questioning her motives. He wasn't so insecure that he thought she was trying to fix him. Besides, as far as she was concerned, he didn't need to be fixed. Cameron was what her grandmother would have called "smitten" with this doctor and she was enjoying every moment of it.

She was too caught up in her pleasant little world to notice the nervous looks staff members were giving her as she approached Randy's office. When she got there, she was surprised to find the door almost shut. His normal consulting hours were over for the day. There shouldn't be any patients in there. She raised a hand to knock and heard Randy's voice and a grunt that sounded like he was either moving furniture or a kidney stone.

Allison pushed the door open in concern and stopped cold at what she saw. She turned quickly and took two steps away from the door, but then stopped again. She paused for several seconds, then something compelled her to turn back to the doorway as she pulled a pair of latex gloves out of the pocket of her lab coat.

She looked at the two faces that were pretty much frozen in shock at her presence and walked the short distance to Randy's desk. With her now gloved hands, she reached for the manila folder that contained the x-rays and which was lodged beneath the female, naked rear-end. She gave a good tug and said simply, "We need these now."

Aside from shifting slightly to allow Cameron to take the films, neither person moved and neither spoke.

Being smug was no longer an option.

OOOO

By the time Cameron returned from her adventure on the third floor, James Wilson had joined the group in the diagnostic conference room. He was, as usual, relaxed and tipped back in his chair as he listened to his best friend berate Chase and Foreman.

"Why don't you two just go back to medical school and see if they'll give you a refund for your degrees? They sure as hell aren't helping out here too much." House tossed the marker on the table.

"You don't seem to have any better ideas," snapped Foreman.

"Why don't we just wait until Cameron gets here with the films," suggested Chase.

"Here she comes," noted Wilson.

As Cameron walked in the room, Wilson noticed her face, which was pale and tense. He sat up as she threw the folder of x-rays on the table. House snatched it up and dumped the pictures on the table. Cameron walked over to the trash can and peeled the latex gloves she was still wearing off her hands.

"What's with the gloves? Crawford have some sort of nasty disease?" House asked as he moved toward the light box to see the pictures more clearly.

She gave an uncharacteristic snort. "Wouldn't surprise me."

House didn't seem to notice her response, but Wilson did. Something in her tone made him want to duct tape House's mouth shut before he said something that he would probably regret later.

"Well, I've always thought he was a slick little bastard." He was completely oblivious to the anger and disgust emanating from Cameron.

She gave a rude little laugh and then snorted again. "That sounds about right."

This time House noticed. He looked at her, amused. "You're actually insulting someone you barely know? Being crude about it, too." He gave her a mean smile and absently picked the folder back up and waved it around. "Does this mean that you're finally letting that little monster out, Dr. Cameron? Wearing the gloves to keep yourself from touching others and infecting them with your newfound evil?"

"I wore the gloves to keep myself from touching the envelope Dr. Crawford and …his girlfriend were having sex on." Cameron had sat down and was looking down at the table. She got a perverse pleasure in seeing the envelope hit the table, dropped as if it were covered with e coli bacteria.

All four men were silent. For about two seconds. Chase laughed first. "What did you do? Walk in on them?"

Foreman was slightly more sympathetic, but he was too amused by the thought of Cameron's reaction to something like that. He tried to keep the laughter inside but was not terribly successful. "I'm sorry Cam, but that's just too damned funny." He reached over and patted her on the back.

House let out a rude laugh himself and looked at Wilson. "Sounds like someone is horning in on your territory, Wilson." He shook his head and looked at Cameron. "Porn in the office. Did you blush?" He laughed at the look on her face.

Normally, Wilson would have teased her a bit too, but he knew a little more about her relationship with Crawford than she realized. Wilson knew nurses and nurses knew everything, a lesson Cameron hadn't learned just yet. One of them had told Wilson that Cameron and Crawford were dating. The scoop was that they were trying to hide the facts from prying eyes. Wilson understood why and hadn't said anything to anyone else, especially House.

"Well, that couldn't have been pleasant," he offered. He gave Allison a small friendly smile.

"Not particularly," she said, but not very energetically.

"So who was it?" Asked Chase.

"Huh?" That was one question she had considered all the way back to the diagnostic office. She didn't know how to answer it.

"Who was it? Who was he having sex with?" Chase prodded.

"It was Cuddy wasn't it?" House interjected. "That would make everything absolutely perfect. I might have to start believing in God."

Allison looked at her boss. She felt like the proverbial deer in the headlights. The question had her frozen.

She glanced down at the envelope laying on the table and paused. "No, of course it wasn't Cuddy."

"So who…" started Chase again.

Allison stood up. "I'm going to go check on our patient. See if she's doing any better." She stumbled over the chair she had been sitting on as she all but ran out the door.

House grabbed the chair before it fell and watched Cameron's retreating back. "Well, guess she's not ready for a life of evil." He looked back at his remaining assistants who were still chuckling. "Cut it out you two. Back to being doctors."

Foreman and Chase eventually jumped back into the argument they had been having with House before Cameron's return, but Wilson ignored them. He was gazing at the door that Cameron had just exited through. His eyes wandered to the envelope. Then they snapped to House. Then back to the door. His brain clicked. He shut his eyes and sighed. "Oh, hell." This was going to be ugly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Still don't own House or anything having to do with it. This is purely for my amusement and for the purposes of procrastination.

**A/N:** First, I feel I should say that perhaps I am not giving a certain character a fair shake. I think she is a great source of conflict for the show and adds a terrific dynamic; however, if the writers keep her around for too long (like the Spork on CSI), I'm going to be really annoyed.

Secondly, thanks for the reviews! They make me smile in a way that causes the people around me to be nervous.

OOOO

Eventually, House and the boys had decided on a course of treatment for the patient whose x-rays Cameron had delivered. House had noticed that there had been no report included with the films, though, and had had to read them himself (not that he wouldn't have anyway). That had not made him particularly happy.

"I'm all for a good bang in the middle of the day, but if it keeps him from doing his job he needs to hold off," he grouched to Wilson as they both walked into House's office. He hobbled over to his desk and tossed the folder-less pictures down. "I'm going to have to dig up a new folder for these." He chuckled. "Latex gloves. That was pretty funny. Can you imagine her face?"

Wilson just stood there. "Yeah, but I also saw her face when she walked in. And I saw her run out of there like demons from hell were chasing her. Didn't you see that?"

"Yeah. She's too sensitive. Embarrasses too easily. She needs to get over that." He sat down and dug out his Gameboy. They were in the homestretch of the work day. Time to kill some time.

"You're kidding, right?" Wilson sat in the stuffed chair across from his friend's desk. "You can't possibly tell me that you don't know what's been going on with her recently."

House, never taking his eyes off the Gameboy, replied, "Has she taken Chase's place as the resident tattle-tale? Foreman teaching her how to pick locks? Cuddy teaching her how to dress?"

"You work with her everyday, but you have no idea what has been going on?"

Wilson really wished he could be doing anything else right now. He saw three ways this could go. He could poke and prod his friend in the right direction and let him figure it out for himself; he could just flat out tell him; or he could wait to see if House would ever get a clue on his own. All the choices had him wishing for body armor, and that was just when it came to the fact that Cameron had been dating Crawford. He was going to want a Sherman tank to hide in when they got to the identity of Crawford's sex partner.

House laid down the Gameboy after hitting pause and turned to face Wilson. "Okay, now you're starting to annoy me. Why would I notice what has been going on with Cameron?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because you've been noticing everything she's done, said, and worn for the past year. Maybe because you have the tiniest crush on the poor thing…"

"First of all, she would kill you for calling her that. Secondly, 'crush' is such a stupid word. And, thirdly, I am completely over that." House was starting to feel slight discomfort. He had tried very hard for the past few months to ignore any and all warmth that he felt for Cameron. He thought he had taken care of it at the restaurant on the date she conned him into, but then she had totally thrown him by telling him that she was glad he could love someone. Having Stacy around gave him a reason to push anything remotely having to do with Cameron out of his way; he'd been trying to see her only as another doctor on his team. After all, Stacy was a force to be reckoned with, one that he had never quite dealt with completely, and he hadn't wanted Cameron to be in the crossfire. He still didn't think that a relationship between him and Cameron would ever be a good idea, but he didn't see the sense in throwing her to the wolves, either.

He also didn't see the sense in explaining all this to Wilson, who, although he was House's best friend, really wouldn't understand. He'd tell House to get over Stacy and move on – like he had dozens of times before. Now, Wilson was trying to lead him down some path about Cameron and he really didn't need that.

"You're over her?" Wilson asked.

"Yep." House drawled. Maybe if he said very little, Wilson would go away.

"Great." Wilson really couldn't, in all good conscience, leave this completely hanging. He was going to make sure House knew about Cameron and Crawford for now, and then he would save the rest of the mess for later. Maybe the rumors would get back to him before Wilson had to say anything. There were times that being a coward was the best way out. Now was one of those times.

He dove in. "Have you by any chance noticed that Cameron has been inordinately happy? Noticed that whenever Chase and Foreman try to get her to do something with them on Friday nights, she already has plans?"

"No. Do you have a point?" But the point was getting a little sharper for House and was causing his discomfort to increase.

"All right Sherlock, let's see if this one hits it home for you. Have you noticed that she finds excuses and, in fact, jumps on chances to head up to radiology? That she doesn't get pissed when you send her out to pick up films when a messenger in the hospital or a member of the radiology staff could bring them to you just as easily? Did you notice that when she came in today she looked like she was either going to puke or stab someone?"

House was silent, but it was apparent to his friend that something had finally clicked.

Wilson stood up. "You know, I think I'm going to stop now and let you chew on that for a while. I realize that you've been trying hard to ignore Cameron…"

House's eyes shot up.

"Yes, I do. Everyone does. You're not as mysterious as you'd like to think. Anyway, now might be a good time for you to think about her again." He moved toward the door. "Have a lovely evening, Dr. House."

House watched Wilson walk out the door. The point was sharp and sticking in his side now. So Cameron had been dating Crawford. And Cameron had walked in on Crawford having sex with someone who was not Cameron.

Okay.

Hmmph.

House turned to the side in his chair and began twirling his cane like a baton.

One thing at a time. Cameron was dating and was – according to Wilson – happy about it. Cameron was dating Crawford, though, who House could have told her was a jerk.

If she had asked.

Which she hadn't.

He couldn't wonder why he had missed this. He knew why. He had tried very hard to miss stuff about Cameron. He should be pleased that he had been so successful.

He wasn't.

That was not something he wanted to dwell on. He might find himself leaning towards jealousy.

Which would not be a good thing.

At all.

So, time to move on to the second piece of the story: Crawford had been screwing someone when Cameron had walked in. That he could focus on. That emotion was one he was used to. Anger. He could deal with anger.

Of course, the anger was for Cameron's sake. And, of course, he wouldn't be so angry if Cameron had just walked in on any random doctor having random sex.

That would be funny.

This was not.

Protective was a vibe he had been sprinting from (metaphorically) ever since Stacy had dumped him. He was no happier about that emotion than he was about jealousy.

The cane stopped spinning. House leaned his chin on the handle, contemplating the situation.

He nodded slowly. By choosing to have sex during the work day, Crawford had, in fact, neglected to read the films.

He had been negligent.

_That_ was something House felt comfortable getting mad about.

Now he had a reason to confront the slimy bastard. No jealousy or protectiveness here. Not a bit. Just anger towards another moron trying to make his professional life harder.

He stood up and strode purposefully toward the door; he would head to the radiology department and let Crawford have it. He'd have to decide once he got there whether the cane would be involved.

Rationalizing was such a beautiful thing.

OOOO

One time in high school, Allison Cameron had caved to peer pressure and the lure of spring and had skipped out for the day. She got caught, of course, because she was one of those people who always got caught. People thought she was some sort of goody-two-shoes because she rarely tried to take a chance when it meant crossing some ethical or rule-oriented line. The truth was, though, that she had bad karma when it came to things like that. If anyone was going to get caught being the least bit rebellious, it was going to be her.

Working for Greg House had been tough for that very reason. Well, there were other reasons, too, but it had been hard for her to deal with his constant rule bending and breaking.

Despite all of that, she sat on her couch in her apartment at 4:15 in the afternoon, a full forty-five minutes before she was supposed to even be gone from the hospital, and she had been sitting there for at least two hours. When she had left the conference room, she had not gone to check on the patient. Instead, she had found herself in her car heading towards her apartment. She had not signed out. She had not even grabbed her purse. She assumed she must have had her car keys in her lab coat pocket because here she was. In her apartment, on her couch, still in her lab coat.

She figured the karma was going to kick in at any moment. She was surprised she had not been caught for speeding or something since she didn't have her driver's license with her. Cuddy hadn't shown up to suspend her for leaving early. No nasty phone calls from House.

Just nothing.

What a perfect way to end a perfect day.

She stood up finally and took off the coat. At least she wasn't crying. That would probably come later. Probably at some really bad time. Like the first time she had to see Randy again, which would probably be right in the middle of the cafeteria.

She hope he caught some nasty social disease that left him with an oozing, itching rash.

And she hoped the little wench he was with got it too.

That would make things much better.

She contemplated all sorts of possibilities as she walked back to her room to change her clothes. She didn't want it to be a fatal disease, but something supremely uncomfortable and embarrassing would do just fine.

Maybe she should call up Mr. Infectious Diseases himself and see what he could come up with. She'd bet he'd have some good ones. He'd enjoy it too, especially if he found out whom Randy had been with in his office.

"Not if," she told herself on a sigh, "when." He would eventually find out because that was how the gossip mill ran at PPTH. She had vague memories of walking through the hospital to her car and being the recipient of all kinds of sad, pitying looks as she passed. Everybody knew. Everybody probably had known about her and Randy right from the start. She should never have kidded herself about that. Even Wilson knew. She picked up on that from his reaction to her tale. What was funny was that she had obviously been able to keep it from the three people she worked most closely with. They, clearly, had no idea what had been going on, and she sure as hell didn't want to explain it to them now.

There were three things that she didn't want to deal with at all. One was that she had been cheated on by a guy she had really liked. Two was that he had been cheating on her with another staff member. Three was that the staff member had been her boss's former live-in lover.

Whom he hadn't gotten over yet. And who was married. To a man who was still her boss's patient.

Cameron had moved to the kitchen and was rooting around in the fridge for a beer that Chase had left at her place. When she found it, she opened it, but only took a sip.

She leaned against the counter and sighed again. She supposed she should add a fourth to the list of things she didn't want to deal with: she felt sorry for House. If it were physically possible, she would have kicked her own ass for that, after all, she was the one who had just been treated horribly by the second guy in row whom she had dared show some interest in recently. And House had been the first one. She should be taping pictures to dart boards or making voodoo dolls at this point.

She let out a harsh laugh. How ironic that she had been so certain that Randy had been a good thing, and now he was the reason that she found herself worrying about House again. Bastard.

Her telephone rang, interrupting her thoughts.

The voice on the machine was Cuddy's, "Dr. Cameron, do you realize you were scheduled for the clinic this afternoon? Be in my office at eight tomorrow." Click.

Almost immediately after that, her cellphone rang. A few minutes after the ringing stopped, she dared to listen to the voice mail. This one was from House.

"You'd sure as hell better be back in here tomorrow." There was a pause. "Just had a chat with your boyfriend." Another pause. "Thought you ought to know that."

Oh, God. Her karma had definitely kicked in.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** Don't own House (except on DVD!) Have nothing but piles of ungraded essays, which aren't technically mine, but you can have them if you don't sue me.

**A/N:** This chapter was very hard to write. I'm pretty sure I've deleted it five times, and I've read it 600 times (at least it feels that way). Your reviews have been wonderful and fun. Thanks!

OOOO

When Greg House had walked out of the radiology department after his "chat" with Randy Crawford, no one tried to stop him. No one stood in his way – at least not on purpose. One poor soul had been rounding a corner at the same time as he had and had run smack into him. He said nothing to her, barely even reacted, but she ran to the break room crying anyway.

The gossips were hard pressed to describe what they had seen. They were used to stories about House terrorizing other doctors. They barely even flinched when he waved the cane around – unless he was waving it at them. The Vicodin had become something they didn't even pay attention to anymore. Although they still never wanted to deal with him, Greg House had become old hat at the hospital. They were used to him.

But they weren't used to this.

He walked through the halls looking straight ahead, with an absolutely controlled expression on his face. He paid no attention to anyone who might be in his way, but he really didn't need to. They moved. As the story made its rounds, some people swore that he had made it from the third floor to the first without even breathing.

That wasn't true, of course. He was breathing. He was trying not to hyperventilate. He was trying really hard not to destroy every person who stood within caning distance of him.

"House!"

Goddammit. Cuddy.

He kept walking.

"House!" She had caught up to him and grabbed his arm.

"What?"

She barely heard him. She had the clinic schedule in one hand and was looking at it instead of the very frightening man she had stopped.

"Do you know where Cameron is? She's supposed to be…" Then she looked up at him.

Lisa Cuddy was not normally cowed by Greg House. He didn't scare her, he pissed her off. This time was different. She let go of his arm.

"Never mind."

He said nothing; he just walked away.

She turned away, a little shell-shocked. That's when she noticed the group of nurses standing a few feet away. They had obviously been watching.

"What? What's going on?"

The nurses looked away.

"Great. Just great." She threw her hands up and let the clinic schedule slap against her hip. "I really don't need House trauma today."

The nurses just scattered.

OOOO

House made his way back to his office where he immediately shut the blinds and turned off all but the smallest light on his desk.

He sat down and popped the cap off his bottle of pills. He took two by swallowing them with whiskey from his desk drawer.

Foreman chose that moment to walk in. "Hey, do you know where…"

"Go."

"Pardon me?"

"Go. Handle whatever it is yourself."

Eric just stood there. "But I'm looking for Cam…"

"Go. Now."

"What's going on?"

No answer.

Foreman took a second to look at his boss. Hands clenched around the handle of his cane. Knuckles white. Face flushed. Breathing shallow. Pill bottle. Whiskey. The doctor in him saw a medical problem in the making; the survivor in him saw the need to get the hell out.

He left.

House sat in the same position for several minutes. He forced his breathing to calm, which became a whole lot easier when the pills and alcohol began to kick in.

He let go of the handle of his cane and moved his hands down the length of it. He flinched slightly when a small splinter from the brand new gouge in it caught on his finger. He looked at it and started replaying the last half hour in his mind.

He had gone to Crawford's office to nail him for slacking off on the job. That was the plan. He had told himself that whether he was getting off on the job really didn't concern him. He reviewed in his mind what he knew of Crawford. Young, but not as young as any of his own staff. Tall. Decent looking, he supposed. Confident. A frequent smiler. That was enough to make House dislike him. The man smiled all the time. No one was honestly that pleased with the world.

He had felt the slightest bit sorry for Cameron for having fallen for the smile – he was certain that was what she had been attracted to – but he thought he was going to have to ride her about it just a little. After he took care of Crawford.

When he had walked in, without knocking, Crawford had stood up from his chair, calmly, which House expected. No stammering and fumbling around for this guy.

"Well, at least you have your clothes on. Otherwise, this would be really gross," started House.

"I've been expecting you to show up," stated Crawford, who picked up a pile of papers in the attitude of someone trying to look calm.

"Spiffy. We can skip the pleasantries." House had to admit Crawford was handling this fairly well, so far.

"I know why you're here." Crawford was obviously intent on facing down Greg House.

"Bravo for you."

"Listen, let's just get this out in the open." Crawford stood up straighter. "I realize that you two used to have something going on…"

"Ah, yes, the glorious PPTH grapevine. I'm sure you think you know a lot, but I'm not here about that."

Crawford waved him off, completely ignoring House's speech. "…but you aren't together anymore. What we do is none of your business."

This guy was a moron. A moron who couldn't stop talking. House was going to have to abandon his vow to not be angry for Cameron's sake if this guy didn't shut up.

Crawford continued, "This only happened once. And if anyone should be angry it should be her husband, not you. Now, Allison's a nice girl and I'm sorry that she had to…"

House the interrupted. "Her husband? Her husband's …" Wait, his mind screamed. Back up. Husband? House felt his hands wrap tightly around the handle of his cane.

"Yes, her husband…"

This time the cane did the interrupting as it swung out to the right and slammed into the bookcase. Something shattered.

Crawford shut up.

House's mind continued to race. He saw Cameron walk in the conference room and the way she had looked at him when he had teased her about what she had seen. He saw Wilson try so hard to get him to understand what had happened, and then give up halfway there.

And then he saw Stacy's face.

House brought the cane around slowly and pointed it at Crawford's chest. Then he jabbed – hard – sending Crawford off balance and back into his chair.

He waited a beat. "Take a few days off."

"Excuse me?" The cane was still planted on the radiologist's sternum.

The point of the cane moved up and pushed Crawford's chin up in the air. "You heard me. Leave. Another time zone might be a good choice." House was trying not to let Crawford see him shaking.

"You can't tell me that."

House just pulled the cane back and walked out.

Now, as he sat in his office looking at the gouge in his cane, he vaguely wondered what had shattered on the bookcase.

He laughed derisively at himself, leaned the cane against the desk, and rubbed his face with his hands.

Wasn't this just lovely?

OOOO

Cuddy had learned a lot from Greg House in the several years she had worked with him. She knew, for example, exactly how many Vicoden combined with exactly how many shots of liquor would render a six-foot plus man incapable of putting a band-aid on a skinned knee. She knew the numbers of several medical malpractice defense attorneys by heart and had a couple of them on speed dial. She knew where the best places to hide from her were, and she knew exactly how many clinic hours to sacrifice as bribes in tough situations.

She also knew that when no one, literally no one, would complain to her about House that something huge had happened.

She had asked one nurse whether House had been okay in clinic that morning. The woman had said, "Oh, absolutely! Good as gold."

Bull.

She had asked the billing department whether House had filed the correct paperwork for his current patient.

"Yep. No problems at all!"

Give her a break.

They were terrified. Something had happened and rather than letting Cuddy hear it in bits and pieces, which was the norm, she had been shut out of the loop. She could only imagine that they feared retribution – from him, not her.

Well, this had happened before. She knew how to handle this. House had his little trio of apprentices who followed him around and broke into patients' homes for him; she had her own band of minions who told her what she needed to know, for a price, of course.

First there was Charlie, who worked in the maintenance department. He was good for information if she took a bottle of decent alcohol to him. Then there was Miranda, a nurse, who enjoyed trips to a particular day spa. Unethical? Yep. But when it came to finding out what the hell had been going on with House, it was well worth the split second of guilt.

Her last usual source of House-related news was one of his own ducklings. She stayed away from pumping Chase for information because it seemed to her that he was a little too willing to rat out his boss and, therefore, not to be trusted entirely. No, her last resource was Cameron who received no favors for information because she didn't even know that she had been recruited. Cameron was so trusting and (incomprehensibly) worried about House that it took little for Cuddy to get her to spill her guts. The problem was, though, that Cameron was no where to be found.

Not in the lab, clinic, or diagnostic department. No car in the parking garage, either.

This was perhaps more serious than Cuddy had thought. If Cameron wasn't around and House was in such a pissy mood, well, it didn't take much to come up with a theory. He must have done something stupid again. Time to check in with the mercenaries.

A bottle of scotch and a gift certificate for a deluxe pedicure later, Cuddy was sitting in her office stunned. House had done nothing wrong, not anything she'd want to reprimand him about anyway. He had broken a glass figurine that had been a thank-you gift to Randy Crawford from a patient, but Cuddy figured that if that was the only thing House smashed, Randy Crawford was one lucky guy.

Cuddy had also received an email from Crawford requesting a few days off. She hadn't even thought twice about granting it. She wouldn't dare deny anything that kept one of her department heads from being charged with homicide.

Should she get involved otherwise? No, not directly. She needed to be an administrator and do the politic thing. She tapped a patient file that she had picked up on her way back to her office against her desk and considered her next moves.

Step one was already finished. House was in his office – blinds drawn, only the faintest light coming out. She had checked on that after her visit to Miranda. Steps two, three, and four were phone calls. The first was to Cameron – be in Cuddy's office by eight; the second was to Wilson – House knew the whole story and he was holed up in his office; the third was to the other person who probably should have been taking a few days off herself.

"Hi, Stacy. This is Lisa Cuddy. I'd like for you and Mark to stop in tomorrow to go over Mark's progress. I've made an appointment for you both at 9:00am. See you then."

Well, now. As long as House didn't do anything completely stupid, she had everything under control.

Maybe there was someway to blockade him in his office.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** Don't own House. Just amusing myself.

**A/N: **Thanks again for the reviews.

**OOOO**

"House?"

"House!"

What the hell? He shifted a little. His face was stuck to a piece of paper. Then someone poked him on the arm. He decided to ignore it.

"I told you he'd be like this." Another annoying voice.

The owner of the first voice grabbed his shoulder. And shook. Not a very good feeling.

"Would you please wake up?" Impatient and not just a little bit pissed.

"Go t' hell."

"Already been there. Now wake UP!" This time he was all but shoved out of his chair; he had to wake up in a hurry to catch himself before he tumbled over.

"What is your problem?" He looked at Cameron through hung-over eyes. She was standing a foot away with an unpleasant look on her face. He turned his head just a bit – not too much – and saw Wilson across from his desk with a duffle bag in one hand and a box of donuts in the other.

"Are you two eloping?" He sat up a little more. "If you are, please don't take my bag with you. That is my bag isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," answered Cameron, "and it has a change of clothes in it. Take it downstairs to the locker rooms. Shower. Brush your teeth. Then come back up here. There'll be coffee when you get back." She stepped to the side, apparently thinking he would jump up and scurry off to do her bidding.

"Yeah right." He laid his head back down on his desk.

"Wilson." Cameron sounded like a drill sergeant.

"Come on, Greg. You smell like whiskey and God only knows what else. Judging from that little brown bottle there, that's not the only thing you ingested last night."

"Well, at least I didn't finish them off."

"If you had, I'm sure this conversation would be taking a completely different turn. Now get up."

"Give me a donut."

Cameron slammed a bottle of water and three aspirin tablets on the desk in front of him. "You'll get a donut when you show up here looking human again." She nodded at Wilson who put the donuts on the desk, walked around, and gave a good pull on House's arm.

"What the hell is going on?" House glanced at the clock as he stood up. "Christ! It's only 6:30! Can't this wait?"

"Nope. The lady says not." Wilson pushed the bottle of water and the aspirin towards him.

"My leg hurts."

Cameron sighed impatiently. She snatched up the prescription bottle and got one pill out.

"Who knows what this will do to you."

House took the pills and drank all the water without a pause. God, he hated cotton mouth. When he was done, he looked at Cameron. "What are you up to?"

"Strategizing."

He took in her appearance. She was wearing the same ultra-tailored suit she wore when she interviewed for the job. Her hair was pulled back painfully and she was wearing tiny gold studs in her ears. Despite the care she had obviously taken in dressing she looked like hell; her eyes were glazed and smudgy, she was pale, and she had a very slight tremor in her hands.

He stood up to go with Wilson without any more fight because he did not want to get upset again like he had the evening before. Standing there looking at her destroyed was not a good way to avoid that.

Wilson started into the hallway, but Cameron stopped him. "Don't forget the eye drops. He looks like he's been in a frat house all night."

House mustered up a glare for her and then turned to follow Wilson down the hall.

Cameron stood with her arms crossed in front of her, tapping her toe.

She couldn't believe that he had actually been asleep. Granted, the sleep was helped along by some strong drugs and drink, but still… _She_ had spent all night cleaning her apartment. Now her hands smelled like bleach and she had that slight tingly feeling all over her body that came when she stayed up all night. Her eyes were gritty and her head was fuzzy. She even felt a bit nauseous.

She gave herself until noon. At that point, she was sure she would collapse somewhere. Until then, though, they had things to discuss.

The night before, after she had listened to House's message, Allison had stood stock still for about two minutes. Then she had started crying. Loudly. Fifteen minutes later, her chest hurt and her nose was completely stuffed up. Her face was red and her head ached. She got up from the floor where she had sunk down and she walked to the kitchen.

Tea, she had thought, sniffing. I'll brew some tea. She put the kettle on to boil and opened her cupboard. The first cup she saw was one that Randy had bought for her at the Boardwalk. It said, "Doctors Do It With Patience." She stared at it for a second. Then she whacked it off the shelf and onto the floor.

Sweeping up the pieces of the tacky mug had been the start of the whole cleaning spree. By the time her kitchen and living room had been thoroughly disinfected, she was tired enough to try to go to bed.

Two hours later, she was back up and starting on the bathroom. She had not enjoyed one second of sleep.

After the bathroom, she tried had tried for sleep again. No luck.

While she worked on the bedroom, she thought about things. And then she thought some more. What the hell was she going to do when she got in to work in the morning? The entire hospital would be buzzing about her little … well, whatever they'd call it. She had to deal with Cuddy. Foreman and Chase would probably be clued in by that time. And God forbid that she had to see Randy or Stacy.

By three in the morning, Allison had thought of every possible scenario that she might encounter the next day; everything from House in prison to Stacy begging her forgiveness had crossed her mind.

When she got to the one in which she pointed a tongue depressor at a kneeling Randy who immediately poofed away in a cloud of smoke, she realized that it was time to do something constructive. She tried to call House at his place. No answer. She tried to call his office, his cell phone, and his pager. Three more strike-outs.

Worried again and angry at herself for being so, she called Wilson. Julie had answered.

Cameron had come up with some story about a patient who had coded; Julie didn't believe her, but she let Allison talk to her husband anyway. He told her that House was probably still at his office, drunk or high or both. They agreed to meet at the hospital at 6:30; Allison told him to pick up the clothes and toiletries from House's apartment. He didn't argue. He had enough experience with upset women that he knew when just to go along with everything they said.

Allison spent the next two hours watching TV – which at that time of the night was depressing itself. At some point she had begun getting ready for battle, er, work.

Now, she was waiting for House to return so that they could begin to deal. He would fight it, but she would fight harder.

She got the coffee started, opened the donut box and took out a custard-filled, chocolate covered one. House's favorite. She took a huge bite.

**OOOO**

"3:15," stated Jim Wilson flatly.

"She called you at 3:15?"

"Yep, and then I had to spend the rest of the night convincing Julie that Cameron's call had not been some secret message from my supposed mistress."

"Bet that was fun." They were walking back from the showers. House had showered, brushed his teeth, and used the eye drops. He still felt like hell, but at least he didn't look so bad. Relatively speaking.

"What's she up to?" He asked.

"I'm not sure." Wilson paused. "Are you okay?"

"I'll be better when I get a donut in me. Did you get any of those custard ones?"

"That's not what I mean."

"I know that." They paused to get on the elevator. "You know, it would've been nice of you to let me know the whole story. It sucked having to hear it from Dr. Feel-Up."

"Honestly, I'm surprised you didn't figure it out for yourself."

"You're evading the topic."

"Yes, I am, and I will continue to do so."

"Wimp."

"Actually, I think 'chicken' would be a better description."

House snorted. "You really don't know what she's doing?"

"Nope."

"Is she mad?" He felt like he had when he had pulled the corsage out of the refrigerator.

"At you?" Wilson was amused by the question. "I don't know why she would be, unless it's because you seem to have slept like a drunken baby for most of the night."

They walked back into House's office. Cameron walked up with a donut – glazed – and a cup of coffee. She looked at House. "Better," she stated. She turned her gaze toward Wilson. "You can go now."

Wilson's eyebrows shot up to his hairline, but he smiled a bit andturned to go.

"Who died and made you Cuddy?" House shot at Cameron. He said to Wilson, "you can stay if you want."

"Oh, I value my skin too much." He grabbed a donut. "You can tell me about this later." He left.

"Sit," ordered Sergeant Cameron.

"I have every intention of sitting." He walked around his desk slowly, taking his time to let her think that she was not in charge here. He pulled the donut box towards himself. "Where are the custard-filled ones?"

"There were two. I ate them."

"Nice of you."

"Did you know?" She blurted.

"Did I know what?" He found a jelly-filled one. That would have to do.

"Just answer the question."

"I don't know the question." He studied her. "How much sleep did you get last night?"

"I didn't. Now, did you know?"

"Know what!" He asked, exasperated.

"When you sent me up to get the films, did you know what I would find?" She had a pleading look on her face that he couldn't quite stand seeing.

"I wouldn't…"

She rolled her eyes.

He started again. "Okay, so I would do something like that, but I didn't this time. I had no idea. I didn't even know you were dating Crawford, or anyone for that matter." He stopped and sighed inwardly. Man, he must have really been off. How could he have missed that?

"You had no idea?" She echoed his own thoughts.

"No. I mean I heard things that should have clued me in, I guess. I suppose I just ignored it." He shrugged. "Incredible mind powers, you know." He hoped to see a little grin from her. He didn't.

"Whatever. Second question. What did you mean when you said you had a 'chat' with Dr. Crawford?"

"Is this an interrogation? Shouldn't there be whips or something?" He tried for his trademark flippancy, but it didn't quite sound the same.

"Would you please drop the crap and just answer my question?"

"I talked to him. I broke something on his bookcase, and then I suggested that he take a vacation." He sat back in his chair. "Would you please sit down? You're acting weird and it's making me nervous."

"That's supposed to be my line."

"Yeah, well, I had a few hours of sleep last night. You didn't. Our roles are automatically reversed. Unless of course you didn't sleep because you were hopped up on something."

She pursed her lips. He was going to have to take that as a smile for the moment.

"So you didn't do anything…"

"To get myself arrested? No. Sued? I don't think so."

She sighed in relief. "Good."

He shook his head at her. "Why are you so concerned about my possible arrest record? Why aren't you looking into hit men to go after Crawford?" He didn't say Stacy's name. He wasn't quite ready for that yet.

"That is an excellent question!" She almost shouted. "I spent a good deal of my time yesterday worrying about you. I can't figure it out. I get kicked in the teeth by two men in four months and I spend my time wondering if the first one is handling the fact that the second one was screwing his former girlfriend!"

"That made very little sense." He'd give anything for a diversion right now. Maybe Cuddy would barge in and interrupt. He glanced at the door. No such luck.

"Sorry. Unlike some people, I got no sleep last night." She dropped down in the chair across from his desk, finally. "I can barely think straight."

Before he could respond, she said, "Have you talked to Stacy? I mean, I know that you know. I mean, Wilson told me…"

He cut her off. "You don't need to explain. I don't think I'd understand you anyway. No, I haven't talked to Stacy." He turned his chair to the side so that he wasn't looking at her any more. He didn't know which was worse, having Cameron admit that she was worried about him despite his treatment of her, or talking to her about Stacy.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked that. I don't have any right …"

"You have every right! God, I hate it when you do that." He had turned back toward her. "She had sex with your boyfriend, and you walked in on it. I have no claim on her, but you had some claim on him. Seems to me that I should be asking you if you've talked to her." He picked up the giant tennis ball from his desk. "I'm furious with her, though."

"Of course you are." Cameron said quietly. She wasn't surprised that he felt that way.

House looked at Allison for a moment. He knew what she was thinking, but he didn't want to tell her that she was wrong. He wasn't ready to explain that his fury at Stacy wasn't directed at what she had done to him. Like he had said, he had no claim on her. She could screw whomever she wanted, almost. He was angry because she had chosen Cameron's boyfriend. He was angry because Allison had been hurt, and he didn't quite know what to make of that.

Cameron was worried about him and he was worried about her. Just peachy. He chuckled ruefully.

"What's so funny?" She asked.

"Nothing." He looked in the donut box again. "So, you said you were here to strategize. You feel like you need a plan for some reason?"

"Of course I do. I am not going to spend my day or the next couple of weeks for that matter being on the receiving end of pity. I hate that. I hate pity." She was a little more fired up. He imagined, though, that she was too tired to work up a full head of steam. Perhaps it was time for a little levity.

"So, what do you want to do? Want to lock Cuddy and Chase in a closet together and broadcast the action over the hospital's TV channel? That should take some of the attention off of yesterday's drama."

He got a tiny grin for that one.

"How about Cuddy, Chase, and Foreman?" The grin shifted to a smile. "How about just Chase and Foreman? Now that would be something to talk about." She chuckled, but then her smile faded again.

"I don't know what to do. I thought if I made sure that we were both here and looking normal, it would make things easier. I'm just not feeling very normal." She sighed. "I'm embarrassed."

"Yeah. Well, having been the dumped party once before, I think that unless you want to end up like me – bitter and capable of scaring young children– you'd better just ignore it."

"Ignore it?" She looked at him like he was crazy.

"Blow it off. If any one asks, tell them to go to hell. Tell them that if they're really curious, Crawford will be releasing the video in time for Christmas."

She was quiet for a moment. "How will you handle it?"

Damn it. She really needed to stop that. "I'll just beat them with the cane."

"Maybe you'd be better off telling them to go to hell."

"Not as much fun. Anyway, I've worked very hard to make sure that no one around here would dare ask me a question about something like that."

No one except the woman sitting in front of him. She would ask if she felt the situation called for it, and she would probably worm it out of him no matter how hard he fought her.

She stood up. "I have to meet with Cuddy at eight. Guess I shouldn't have skipped out on clinic duty."

"I seriously doubt that she's too worried about that. She does know what happened yesterday, you know, and she's not completely heartless."

"Yeah.Think I should tell her about the video?" She yawned and stretched up onto her tiptoes.

"Sure. She might have brought her sense of humor along today." He wanted Allison to go home. She didn't need to be there.

Allison looked at the clock. It was well after seven. "Guess I'll go get the mail."

"We didn't get much of a strategy put together."

"I don't suppose there is much we can do. Just tell Wilson that we came up with something diabolical so that he doesn't kill me for dragging him in here." She turned towards the door but stopped. "Why are you being so nice to me about this?"

Of course she had to ask. "Guess I'm too hung over to be mean."

She looked at him. "No, that usually makes you more of a bastard." She shrugged. "Doesn't matter. Thanks."

He waited until he couldn't hear her heels in the silent hallway, then he dropped his arm back and whiffed the tennis ball across the room.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Thanks for the reviews, comments, and questions. And thanks for sticking with this.

OOOO

Hospitals were not generally run by women in their late thirties, that was usually a job given to middle-aged men who were card carrying members of the Good Ol' Boys Club; Lisa Cuddy understood that – she didn't like it, but she understood it. She also understood that if she wanted to keep her position, she had to play the game. She could wheel and deal and placate condescendingly with the best of them, and she could be as tough and cold as they could when the situation called for it. She was proud of her accomplishments. What pissed her off to no end was that no matter what improvements or innovations she implemented, only one topic seemed to interest her counterparts from other hospitals.

"So, how do you manage to deal with Greg House?"

"Bet that House gives you run for your money."

"Wouldn't want to be in your shoes when Greg House gets started."

Cuddy understood that a good deal of her hospital's reputation was a direct result of Greg House's work, but that didn't make dealing with him any easier. When she had found out that Cameron had conned House into taking her on a date, Cuddy had been positively giddy. She'd been one hundred percent serious when she had told House that Cameron was probably the only woman who could stand to be around him, but more importantly, she knew that somewhere underneath the polite and sensitive shell was a woman who had the power to reign in that man and put a leash on him. Or a muzzle.

She had not been too upset when the first date, by all accounts, had not gone well. She wasn't sure what he had done, but she knew he had to be the one at fault. She had confidence in Cameron's appeal, though, and was certain that the younger doctor could get House to cave eventually as long as she didn't give up.

Then Stacy had shown up, and Cameron had given up.

It wasn't that Cuddy didn't like Stacy. She and Stacy had gone to lunch a couple of times back in the days before the infarction. They had never been best friends – they were both too Type A to get along that well – but they had had a mutual respect built on the fact that they both had to deal with Greg House.

Cuddy was certain that dealing with House after the whole infarction mess was a lot worse at home than it had been at work, but she had still been shocked and fairly disgusted when Stacy had left. Cuddy had found herself battling the man on a daily basis since that point.

Since Stacy's return, House had not mellowed in the least. In fact, he was worse in some ways because now he had another person to snark at and generally treat badly. Cuddy admired the fact that he seemed to be moral enough to maintain a hands off attitude toward the now-married woman, but he still tried to make Stacy's life at the hospital miserable.

Cuddy had a sensitive, touchy-feely side that she usually kept hidden very well. That side of her had felt sorry for both House and Stacy. These circumstances couldn't have been very easy for either of them. The other side, the one she showed at work, wasn't concerned about their feelings. That side was concerned that Stacy's actions might cause problems that Cuddy wouldn't be able to control.

Four of her employees were involved in this mess and Cuddy had to pull on the administrative gloves and deal with it. Time to show the Good Ol' Boys why she was running this place and not them.

At eight o'clock on the dot, Allison Cameron appeared at her office door. Cuddy made a show of looking at the clinic schedule as she waved Cameron in and gestured toward a chair. She looked up over the rim of her glasses and said, "You skipped your clinic hours yesterday."

"Yes, I did."

She gave no explanation. Maybe Cameron had learned a thing or two about politics herself.

"Don't do it again."Cuddy shut the clinic folder and turned towards her computer. "Thanks for coming in."

But Cameron just sat there.

"That's all?" Okay, so maybe she hadn't learned much.

"Yes. I'm sure that House has mail for you to go through, and I'd appreciate it if you could scare up a new patient. Your department sucks up money like noother in this hospital."

Cameron still didn't leave, but she was now fidgeting. She started to say something else, but Cuddy cut her off.

"Dr. Cameron, I know what happened and I assure you that I will take care of things in a way that will create a minimum of embarrassment for all the parties involved."

Allison stood up. "Dr. Cuddy?"

She sighed. "Yes?"

"Dr. Crawford will be making the video available for Christmas. It might make a good stocking stuffer." She turned and walked out, leaving the Dean of Medicine fighting off a belly laugh.

OOOO

Cameron's encounter with Cuddy had been a lot easier than she had imagined it would be. She even felt a little amused at herself for having thrown House's line about the video in. Of course, that amusement may have been due to sleep deprivation, but she still enjoyed it.

Her encounter with Foreman and Chase was not quite so successful.

Both men had been waiting at the conference table when she walked in. They were silent as she walked to the coffee pot, looking for another jolt of caffeine. It wasn't until she had sat down that they started in on her.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Foreman began since he had at some point elected himself her honorary big brother and protector.

"Which part?" She looked at both of them calmly. She had noticed that House wasn't in his office when she came back. Goody. Now she got to do this all by herself.

"Pick one."

"I assume that the first part is that I was dating Crawford, although I also assume it wouldn't matter who it was."

Foreman nodded slowly in agreement.

"I didn't tell you because… well, because I didn't _want_ to tell you."

Foreman's eyes narrowed and Chase shifted in his chair.

"Don't look at me like that." She found that her patience was almost gone. She didn't want to talk about this anymore. "I am capable of having a relationship without you two knowing about it. The big brother act gets a little tiresome after a while, and I can only imagine what you would have done or said to Crawford if you had known." She paused. "In fact, now that I think about it, I'll bet you made sure to whisper something to House before we went out that didn't help much."

Foreman looked at the table and started playing with his coffee mug. Chase still said nothing.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. As for the other, I knew you'd find out sooner than later. Obviously you did, so it really doesn't matter, does it?"

When House walked in a few minutes later, he found Foreman trying not to look contrite, Cameron scowling, and Chase nervously flipping through a medical journal.

"Wow. Looks like we're having fun this morning."

No one responded to him.

"Well, did any of you happen to notice before you started pouting that our patient took a very nice turn for the better early this morning?"

"What? How?" Foreman reacted first.

"I don't know, which is why I want the three of you to check her out from head to toe and figure out how."

They sat there, puzzled.

"Go, go, go before she decides to get worse again." House waved the cane toward the door.

Cameron was the last one out and he stopped her before she could leave.

"How did it go with Cuddy?"

"Fine." She tried again to walk out.

"Are you doing okay?"

"Please stop," she almost whispered. She faced the hall with her chin dropping toward her chest.

He ignored her. "Go home. Get some sleep."

She sighed and looked back up at him. "I don't know why you're choosing to be like this right now, but I need to stay and work. I figure I've got about three more hours of juice left before I collapse. My goal is to stick it out and hope that I'm standing on something soft when the adrenaline runs out. Now, there are some emails I flagged that you need to look at and a couple of requests for consults on your desk."

She pushed past him and headed towards their patient's room.

House tapped his cane on the floor. This was no fun. Greg House didn't like second guessing himself, nor did he enjoy self-contemplation. He felt like he was going to crawl out of his skin, and he didn't think that was all due to the hangover he had. It had more to do with the woman who had just walked out of the room and the one who had walked out of his life.

He growled.

Now was not the time to try to figure out what the hell his brain was up to. He needed to work off this feeling so he headed out to find someone to harass. Wilson needed to be punished for his actions from the morning, and House needed to eat. Looked like Jimmy Boy was going to be the winner.

OOOO

Cuddy had sympathized with Cameron. She probably wouldn't have wanted to deal with the clinic either if she had been in Cameron's shoes, but she couldn't let Cameron get away with skipping her clinic hours altogether. Their two minute meeting had been a token attempt at discipline and it had gotten the job done.

Now Cuddy had to deal with Stacy. This was not going to be a token attempt at anything; Stacy had to go, or Cuddy feared that House and, by extension, the reputation of her hospital would go instead.

Stacy and Mark Warner arrived at Cuddy's office fifteen minutes late. Both seemed a little out of sorts. Not surprising, thought Cuddy.

This time, instead of sitting behind her desk, Cuddy had moved to one of the couches and had coffee waiting in an urn on the table. She stood and greeted both visitors with a smile and led them to the other comfortable chairs in the room.

Stacy smiled back as she sat down next to her husband. She looked a little strained, though, as she spoke first, "You said on the phone that you wanted to discuss Mark's progress. What's going on? Is there a problem with the treatment?" The lawyer maintained her calm even though she knew that Cuddy probably knew most of what had happened the day before. There was a slim chance that she didn't, but Stacy wouldn't bet on it.

Cuddy poured them each a cup of coffee, even though she hadn't asked them if they wanted any. "No, there's no problem at all, in fact just the opposite is true." She took a sip of the hot drink. "I've reviewed your file with your current doctors and your therapists, Mark, and I think you're ready to move on."

"Move on?" He asked.

Cuddy made certain not to look at Stacy. "We've agreed that there is no reason that your own family doctor couldn't take over your care at this point."

"Really?" Mark perked up a bit.

"Absolutely. You've made terrific progress over the past few months and I'm sure that you're getting tired of coming all the way to Princeton for check-ups."

Mark nodded and was about to speak when his wife stepped in. "What about his physical therapy?"

Cuddy made a show of flipping through his chart. "Well, his current PT agrees that he's ready to move on as does his occupational therapist." She smiled and looked at Mark again. "Your doctor at home can set you up with therapists who can take care of you at this point. Your medical needs are not at all what they once were and there is no reason for you to continue that awful trek back and forth between here and home."

Mark sat back and smiled. He reached over and rubbed his wife's back. "Stacy, you can go back to your practice, then. Maybe things can get back to normal."

"What about my job here?" Stacy asked.

"They don't need you to stick around." He looked at Cuddy. "I mean, I realize that hospitals need lawyers, but the deal was that she stayed while I received treatment, right?"

"Of course. Stacy's done incredible things here," she looked at the other woman, "but I do understand her need to get back to her own practice. I would never keep her from doing that." She held her gaze steady with Stacy's.

"So what needs to be done?" Mark was completely oblivious to what was not being said between the two women.

"You'll just need to sign some releases for your records…" Cuddy began.

"Then Lisa and I need to talk about the cases I'm handling here," finished Stacy.

"My secretary has the releases all ready for you."

"Great." He stood up and looked down at his wife. "And you were nervous about this meeting." He laughed.

When he had no more than shut the door, Stacy looked at Cuddy. "You ever consider being a lawyer?"

"No." She had no intention of extending this encounter.

"Well, you'd be a good one." Stacy continued to sit. "That was slick."

Cuddy didn't say anything.

"Lisa, aren't you going to say anything? I know you know what happened." Stacy was certain another shoe was going to drop at any moment.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Cuddy crossed her legs and sat back more comfortably.

"Bull."

"What I know is that I have a hospital to run and its reputation to protect. When something happens to threaten that reputation, I have a responsibility to fix the problem."

There was silence for nearly a minute.

"So, that's it? You're not going to do anything else?" Stacy asked. Cuddy was struck by how much Stacy sounded like Cameron had earlier. The difference was that Cameron's question had been motivated by confusion; Stacy's was motivated by guilt.

"Anything else would be none of my business." Cuddy stood up. It was time to end this. "As for the work you've done here, I've taken the liberty of dividing your cases between the other lawyers, who were happy to take them. You really have nothing left to do here."

After Stacy had walked out of her office, Cuddy opened one of her desk drawers. She pulled out a shot glass and a bottle of whiskey that was very similar to the one House had all but finished the night before. She did one shot, removed the evidence, then took a roll of breath mints out of another drawer and smiled. She'd like to see one of the Boys at Princeton General pull that one off.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** I had to watch the Stacy episodes again before I took on the task of writing her. I really like how they've written her character so far and I can't wait to see what the writers do with her in the upcoming episodes.

By the way, your reviews have been so kind! I've said it already, but I can't say it enough. Thank you!

OOOO

He was still hung over. The breakfast that he had made Wilson buy him had not set well, which shouldn't have surprised him given how many times he had tried to eat the cafeteria's food after a night of binging. He would probably never learn that lesson. Old dog. The doctor in him kept thinking, "push fluids." The way too experienced drinker thought, "throw up." That would be the easiest solution if he weren't a cripple who couldn't kneel down by a toilet bowl without excruciating pain.

Depressing. He grabbed another cup of coffee. Caffeine with plenty of sugar. That was the other option. It would have to do until he got home and could collapse.

"Did you see how everyone was staring?" He asked his friend who was resting his eyes on the lounger in House's office.

"Now you sound like Cameron. When haven't people stared at you? Nine times out of ten, you march around these halls like Attila the Hun, using your cane like a battering ram. If you're not doing that, you're making some weird pronouncement like 'No, Doctor Cuddy, I will not tell you where my ticklish spot is.' Why wouldn't they stare? You're weird." Wilson didn't open his eyes for the whole speech.

"I may be weird, but …" He stopped as Stacy walked in.

"But…?" She asked.

Wilson's eyes popped open and he sat up quickly. He looked immediately at House, who had turned to stone. He sighed. Leaving was what he wanted to do. Now. He wasn't sure that he should, though.

He stood and turned to Stacy. "Maybe you should go."

"I'm not going anywhere. At least not yet." She was still looking at House who hadn't reacted since she walked in. "I need to talk to you."

"What do you mean, 'at least not yet?'" Asked House, trying to get to the point.

"Well, it seems that Dr. Cuddy no longer needs my services now that Mark is doing better."

"A bit of backhanded diplomacy. I like it." He turned to Wilson. "We need to get this over with."

Wilson looked at him for a second and then nodded. He turned towards Stacy and started to speak. He shook his head, though, and walked out.

"Let's make this quick. I don't want the hospital to think I'm weird _and_ desperate." He moved to the front of his desk. Body language. Unafraid. Not hiding behind the desk. He crossed his arms in front of his chest. Also not open to negotiations.

Stacy stepped back one. Nervous. Intimidated. "I'm leaving."

"You already said that." He leaned against the desk and crossed his feet at the ankles.

"I don't know what else to say." Her tone was pleading, asking him for guidance.

"Then why did you come in?" He wasn't going to be helping her.

She took a deep breath to collect herself and stepped forward again. "I wanted to apologize."

He didn't react.

She continued, hoping that his silence meant that he would listen to her. "I don't know what I thought I was doing."

Still nothing from him.

He stared at her. He didn't point his eyes over her shoulder or look at his feet. He just stared.

"I know you're mad at me." She trailed off.

He waited. He fought the urge to sting her with one of his trademark insensitivities, one that would show her that he hadn't been affected as much as she thought. What he ended up doing hurt her worse than any amount of snark could. He was open and to the point.

"When you left, it nearly killed me. Literally. As clichéd and stupid as that might sound, it's the God's truth." House was in the same position, only moving his mouth.

"Someway or another, I managed to keep from killing myself. I worked and I drank and I took pills. Still do actually."

She couldn't say anything.

"On top of that, I try my hardest to terrify the people around me. By some miracle, no one has tried to finish the job for me. In my more human moments I realize that I'm pretty lucky in some ways."

"Your coming back here and telling me that I am 'the one' threw me. It still does. Screwing a doctor who is not your husband throws me too."

She flinched at his choice of words. "Greg…"

He held up his hand. "No. Let me finish. You said you didn't know what you were thinking? Well, I don't either. How many men do you need, Stacy? One to be 'the one' but not '_the_ one,' one who gets to pretend to be 'the one,' and one who probably never had a chance in hell of being two or three?"

He was getting more fired up as he spoke. Maybe he was incapable at this point of having a rational argument, but it was the House that Stacy was most used to.

"I told you I don't know what I was thinking." She spat. "I love my husband."

"Interesting time to say that. Why did you? Are you trying to convince yourself?" he had moved and was standing away from the desk, gesturing with the hand that wasn't holding a cane.

She had a mutinous look on her face. She was furious that she couldn't think of what to say to shut him up and get out of there. She was furious that she had put herself in this position in the first place.

"I know what I did was wrong."

"So does the rest of the hospital."

She flinched.

"Did you think about that?" He moved closer to her. "Did you think about the fact that there were other people involved here? That other people would be embarrassed?"

"You don't get embarrassed."

"I'm not talking about myself." He cringed inwardly but showed no sign that he wished he hadn't thrown that one out there.

"Oh. Are you worried about Cameron?" She heard herself sound bitchier than she had the right to be, but she plowed ahead on a self-destructive path that she knew would end badly. "Did I shock her?"

He ignored her question and decided to try to push this in his own direction. "Why Crawford?"

"Why not?" She sassed, then sensed immediately that she may have pushed too far. "I don't know. He was there."

"You said you didn't cheat on your husband."

"I didn't until now. And I never cheated on you either." She shrugged in defeat. They had both calmed a little. "This is the first time I've ever done anything like this." She looked up at him. "Do you believe me?"

"That doesn't matter."

"It does to me."

"I don't care."

"Yes, you do," She turned toward the door. "but my cases have already been delegated by Lisa, Mark is meeting with his therapists for the last time right now, and I'll be gone in a couple of hours." She paused. "Do you know where Cameron is?"

"Leave her alone." He tensed up again.

"I need to apologize to her."

"No, you don't." His voice became more insistent.

"Yes, I do. I don't know why, or if it will do any good, but I need to try." She shrugged. "If I don't I won't ever feel right again."

"Poor you. I know a couple of good therapists. Talk to them instead. Leave her alone." He glared at her from across the room.

She looked at him sadly. His blue eyes were tired and a bit bloodshot. He hadn't done much more with himself but shower this morning, she thought. She remembered the signs. Too much booze, too little sleep.

She smiled weakly at him and walked away.

OOOO

Allison was hiding. She would freely admit that to anyone who dared ask. No one was asking at the moment, though, because they were just the slightest bit afraid of her. When Allison and the boys had left their mysteriously no longer ill patient, Foreman had asked her how she was doing. She had punched him in the arm. Chase had tried to tease her into a better mood. She had told him to get a haircut.

After that, she had picked up the caddy of blood and urine samples they had just taken from their patient and had told them that she would be in the lab if anyone wanted her. She heard Chase whisper, "I don't think anyone will," as she stalked away.

Making her way to the lab, she had felt slightly contrite for her treatment of the two men, but she forgot that contrition when she walked by a group of doctors who became very silent as she passed. She turned to them and said, "Is it time for Group Cliché Therapy?"

One of them had muttered something about her needing a cane. "Don't tempt me" had been her response.

Basically, Allison Cameron was leaving a wake of confused and annoyed people behind her as she moved through the halls. For some reason, it didn't bother her. In fact, she rather enjoyed the looks of shock. Maybe that was why House did it so often.

Of course she knew that once she had enjoyed a dozen hours of uninterrupted, angst-free sleep along with at least two weeks of putting this behind her, she would feel guilty for her behavior. She would realize that the silence from the rest of the staff was not malicious and that her two cohorts were only trying to help.

At the moment though, the only thing she felt bad about was that the stupid architects had designed the place with way too many glass walls. Anyone could see her in there, and she didn't want to be seen. Or found.

She adjusted the focus on the scope and thought about who might actually come in there.

House was the only one who wouldn't look at her like she was about to thrash him with her stethoscope. He was also the only one brave or stupid enough to walk in when she was hiding in the lab. The place had become something of a joke in her mind when it came to him. They had had more intense and personal conversations in here than anywhere else – or at least it felt like it. She really didn't want to see him right now, though, and she hoped that he would just stay away. She didn't think he would take kindly to being punched.

She prepared another slide for examination. She supposed she would have to talk to him sometime, though. She needed to find out why he was being so docile around her. Not that she didn't appreciate not having to spar with him at every turn, but she was worried that he was letting himself be too upset about Stacy.

"Can I talk to you for a moment?"

Oh, hell. So there was one more person she really didn't want to see, and she wasn't quite sure how to handle it, which made her more edgy. She certainly didn't want to soothe this visitor. She kept her eyes on the slide and let out what she hoped was an impatient rather than nervous sounding sigh. "Let me finish with this."

Allison took her time inspecting the sample and taking notes that were a little more meticulous than they needed to be. She closed the patient's file and tapped the papers into place, then she recapped her pen and hooked it to the file folder. The whole time she was trying to control her stomach and calm herself. She sighed again and turned on her chair.

"What?"

"I wanted to …" Stacy paused. "I'm going to be leaving the hospital."

"Good luck." Allison drummed her fingers on the folder. She was not, _not _going to start babbling no matter what her tired brain was trying to get her to do. She also was not going to break eye contact with the lawyer. She was not going to be the same Cameron who had asked Stacy quietly and shyly what House had been like before the infarction.

"Greg doesn't want me to talk to you."

"Then why are you here?"

"I'm not sure. Obviously, you don't want to talk to me, but I did want to let you know that I was leaving." Stacy was seeing now that this had not been a good idea. As a lawyer, she knew better than to enter a confrontation unprepared. This had definitely been a mistake.

"Oh. Hmmm. Well, thanks for the heads up." It took everything Allison had to maintain eye contact, but she did it. Despite her nerves, there was a question screaming in her brain, and if Stacy didn't get out of the lab in two seconds, Allison was afraid she would let it fly.

"I'm sorry I hurt you."

Allison said nothing.

"I think you're a good person. You're good at what you do, too." Stacy was babbling.

"Well, that certainly makes me feel better."

Stacy grimaced. "I can see he's influenced you more than I thought." She turned to leave.

Okay, said her brain. That was it. _She_ had brought him up. Time to pull the gloves off. The question came flying out of Allison's mouth.

"Did you do this to him, too?"

Stacy stopped. She didn't turn around all the way to face Cameron. "No. I've never done anything like this before."

"Well, that's reassuring."

"You asked. I'm just telling you." She paused as if waiting for a response. When none came, she went on out into the hallway.

Allison sat perfectly still for a couple of minutes as her tired brain digested what had just happened. For the past twenty-four hours or so, it hadn't seemed to matter to her nervous stomach or her shaking hands what Stacy had done to her, Allison had always been intimidated by the older woman. She had always made Allison feel like a sixteen year old with braces and bad hair.

At the moment, though, Allison felt just a little better than she had since yesterday.

Well.

Well, well, well.

Maybe, just maybe, little Allison Cameron had handled that pretty well.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything in this story including the History Channel, Gameboy, Styrofoam, or picture-in-picture TV (if that's what it's called).

**A/N:** I'm not sure how much longer this will go on, but I don't want it to start rambling. Work is building up around my ears, so the next installment might take awhile to post. Your reviews have encouraged me to continue on with it, though, and, once again, I can't tell you how much I appreciate them.

OOOO

On that very eventful Wednesday, Drs. House and Cameron left work early.

Allison lasted until three o'clock. Her tired brain made it through the grumpy stage and then the slap-happy stage before giving up, so she wasn't much use in the clinic that day. In fact, while listening to Princeton's very best hypochondriac explain to Allison why he had to have both scurvy and rickets, she fell asleep. Right there in exam room two. The man had not noticed her inattentiveness, but when she jerked awake she was mortified. She asked him if he had been on any long sea voyages in the sixteenth century – he had not – and sent him on his way. "Drink less orange juice and more milk if it'll make you feel better. And stop watching the History Channel."

She talked to the clinic's duty nurse and signed up for a couple of extra hours to make up for what she would be missing, touched base with Cuddy, who had no complaints, and went home.

House had left an hour earlier because he was tired and his Gameboy screen was blurring. He stood up, walked out the door, and went home.

Both of them slept like the dead as soon as they made it to their respective couches. Neither one of them even bothered to take off their shoes.

When they each woke up a few hours later, they really didn't feel any better than they had before. They both had that nasty afternoon nap taste in their mouths and they both were cramped and maybe more tired than they had been before they had fallen asleep.

Allison got up, opened the fridge to see what she could make for dinner, and sighed when all she saw was orange chicken from three days ago. She dumped that, brushed her teeth, changed into jeans and a t-shirt and headed to the market that was just a block away. Maybe the fresh air would do her some good.

House took two Vicodin and ordered a pizza.

Allison ended up not buying anything. She walked back to her apartment and had a peanut butter sandwich.

House ate one slice of his pizza.

Cameron picked up a book and tried to read.

House turned on the TV.

Cameron was the first to give up. She laid the book down on the couch, yawned, and headed to bed. Of course she couldn't sleep. When her head hit the pillow, she started thinking again.

She thought about what she had seen – luckily the image had blurred slightly so it was not quite so jarring. She thought about how she had reacted, how she had dealt with Stacy, how Cuddy had dealt with both of them. And she thought about House.

She flopped over in bed and punched her pillow.

She had stayed away from House after the meeting in the conference room. She hadn't even let him know she was leaving, which she supposed with any other boss would not be smart, but this was House. He probably didn't want to be seen anymore than she wanted to see him.

But he had been acting weird. Maybe she should have looked him up. No. Not necessary. She was not going to fall back into the same mess she had been in before Stacy's return. Besides, she had no idea what had gone on between House and Stacy that day; it didn't seem to be positive, but Allison wasn't sure.

It was still early. Maybe she should go over and see how he was doing.

NO. Absolutely not.

She screamed into her pillow and kicked her feet like a three year old. This had to stop.

Acting weird was just what House did. He did it to mess with people and he had done it to her on more than one occasion. Several, in fact. Being nice to her was just him trying to psych her out. It could also be that he didn't want to deal with a raging female. Protecting his own hide.

Yep. That sounded good. Good enough, anyway, for her to finally be able to sleep.

House had not given up as early as Cameron. He was used to sleepless nights and the days that followed. He watched his soaps that he had taped, almost drank some scotch – but thought better of it, and smoked a cigar. He moved to the piano at some point where he watched his hands move over the keys, but he really wasn't paying attention to what he was playing.

He was doing some thinking himself. He had seen Stacy leaving with her husband. Strangely, he had not felt completely bereft like he had when she had left him five years before. Actually, he felt like the time that she had been around over the summer had been rather surreal. Like it never really had happened. Now that she was gone again, he thought that maybe things could get back to normal.

House's conscience was not being as kind as Cameron's tonight. That little bit of rationalization wasn't convincing enough to allow him to sleep.

The problem was that House knew things weren't going to go back to normal, whatever that was. He was still very disturbed by his reaction to what had happened – not because he had gotten mad, but because he had been mad on behalf of Cameron.

She had done a pretty good job of being mad on her own without his help, though. Maybe he should focus on that. Then again, he knew that a lot of that had been an adrenaline rush followed by a lack of sleep. She definitely had been acting a little strange that day and had clearly not been feeling well.

Maybe he should go check on her.

No. Not a good idea. Stupid really.

He'd figure it out in the morning. Maybe.

His eyes were watering now and he was yawning hugely. He got up from the piano bench and headed into bed, where he slept like he normally did, which is to say not very well.

OOOO

The next morning things were back to normal. Well, kind of. Allison came in at a decent hour, sorted the mail, checked emails, and made coffee. House came in looked at the mail and got a cup of coffee. She stayed at her desk in the other room; he stayed at his.

Foreman and Chase arrived at the same time. Both of them looked at Cameron to see if she was showing signs of evil like she had the day before. When she smiled at them, they both sighed in relief and sat down to await House's orders for the day. House had plenty for them to do, but it became quickly apparent that things were not completely well after the fiasco of the past couple of days.

Any outsider would not have been able to see anything usual. House was a jerk; Cameron was the peacemaker; it all looked very normal, but it just didn't feel right. There was a strange energy. Later at the bar the two young men had fled to as soon as they could get out of work, Foreman figured out what had been the problem.

Cameron and House had not, even during the differential, spoken one word directly to each other. When Cameron had an idea she had looked at Foreman and asked him what he thought. House jumped in and shot it down, but he did so by directing his fire at Foreman. House hadn't asked Cameron for her opinion, and he had avoided looking at her.

"Do you think they had a fight?" Chase asked Foreman.

"God, I hope not. That is some drama we don't need," said Foreman.

They ordered another round and silently agreed to drop the subject.

OOOO

On Friday, James Wilson took his friend to lunch. He had wanted to check in on House anyway, the whole Stacy leaving again thing might be bad, but he was especially motivated by a conversation he had had with Foreman.

"So, Foreman and Chase think you're acting weird." No sense in beating around the bush with House.

"Didn't you tell me just the other day that I am weird?" House took a drink of his soda. "Logic would dictate that acting weird would naturally follow."

"You were listening to me? I may have to leave now. I don't think this conversation could go any further."

House looked at him with a bit of impatience. "You know, you don't always do sarcasm well. That last attempt there was just pathetic."

"Well, then, back to the original topic. Why do they think you're being weird?"

"You don't agree with them?" House slurped the last of the soda up with a rude sound.

"I don't know, I haven't been around much since Wednesday. Patients, you know."

"Ah, yes. Patients. I keep telling you that your job would be a lot easier to deal with if you would ignore those people." He opened the cup and started eating the ice.

"Unlike you, I don't merit three assistants to deal with those troublesome patients, and you're avoiding my question." Wilson watched House fish for the last piece of ice and set the cup down. "They say you're refusing to talk to or even look at Cameron."

House put the plastic lid back on the cup. "I'm not refusing to do anything."

"Semantics. What's going on?" Wilson reached over and grabbed the cup from in front of House and set it on the table behind them.

He still got no answer.

"All right. Let me guess and you tell me if I'm right. You are trying to ignore her still. She's a hard one to ignore, Greg."

"Did you see the score of the ball game last night?"

"You know if you ignore her long enough again, she might find herself in the same boat she was in a couple of days ago."

House's brow furrowed in confusion. "Stacy's…"

"I'm not talking about Stacy. That is – one can only hope – over."

"I thought you liked Stacy."

"I did. I don't like what she's done to two people I rather like more, though. And as I was saying, Cameron might find herself some other seemingly nice doctor who will ask her out and who will date her without insulting her. He might actually smile and crack a joke that isn't crude. And she might spend a few months dating the guy without ever telling you about it."

House glared at Wilson.

"Of course, she'll be smarter this time. I can't imagine that she would allow what happened with Crawford to happen again. She might tell Foreman or Chase and get their opinions. Hell, she might even ask me. Keep ignoring her, though, and she'll marry the guy and you won't know about it until her tenth anniversary." He took a drink of his own soda.

House was playing with a napkin. "I don't know what to do about her."

If it had been a slap-stick comedy, Wilson would've sprayed his drink across the table or fallen out of his chair. It wasn't, so he expressed his shock at House's admission by raising a questioning eyebrow.

"Do you want to do something about her?"

"I don't know."

That's better than nothing, thought Wilson. "Well, until you decide what it is you want to do, you need to stop treating her like she's invisible. Pay attention to her like you used to at least."

House was the one who raised the eyebrow this time.

"I don't mean whatever it is you're thinking," Wilson added. "Just be yourself. That didn't seem to bother her at one time." He thought for a moment. "I wonder if she's not having the same problem as you right now."

"What do you mean?" House asked sullenly.

"She hasn't tried to figure out what's going on in your head has she?"

House shook his head.

"That's unusual for her, right? This time she's playing along, maybe even helping you along with this." He drained his drink, but avoided the slurpy noise. "This could be interesting."

"You sound like you're going to sit back and take notes," grouched House.

"Maybe I will. Maybe I'll write a book about it and then I'll get some young doctors to do my work for me." Obviously the conversation had deteriorated. No more analysis for today, but there would be one final thought. "I hear Donaldson in pediatrics has taken a fancy to our Dr. Cameron. Seems like a cheery guy." He stood and left both their trays for House to clean up.

OOOO

Allison had been looking forward to going to bed on Friday night. Foreman was the primary on their current patient and she was fourth in line on the on-call list behind him. That meant the opportunity to sleep, which was exactly what she did. Her body finally let her have one of those rare, dreamless, yummy nights where the temperature of her room was perfect, the sheets and blankets were soft, and her pillow never got lumpy.

It was no surprise when she woke up at noon the next day; however, the method of waking up was. It was not a pleasant, slow waking up, with the pretty sunlight coming through her blinds, and so on to match her night. It was harsh and jarring because some maniac was pounding on her door and yelling.

"God. What now?"

She padded out through the living room to the door, bumping into things as she went. She flung the door open just as he was about to yell again. He swallowed the words and took in her appearance.

"Why are you still in your pajamas?"

Allison looked down at herself. T-shirt, flannel pants. Her hand went up to the messy ponytail, then she decided she hadn't been awake long enough to be embarrassed.

"You woke me up."

"It's noon."

"It's Saturday."

He showed no sign of contrition or of leaving and one of her neighbors was looking out into the hallway. Allison grabbed House's arm and pulled him into the room. She smiled at her neighbor and then slammed the door.

"What are you doing here?"

"It's noon, why weren't you up?" He repeated.

"Why were you yelling?"

"Answer my question."

"Answer mine."

He shook his finger at her. "You know, if we don't stop this we're going to miss it."

"Miss what?" Allison wanted coffee.

"The kick off." House walked around her and towards her TV. "Don't suppose this thing has picture-in-picture, does it?"

"No. What are you talking about?" She could do nothing but stand in the entryway and watch him fumble with her remote.

"It's Saturday." He looked at her again. Okay, so maybe he was going to have to explain. "Saturday. College football? My TV is broken. Yours isn't. Kick-off for the first game is at twelve twenty-one."

She continued to stare at him. He hoped that she wouldn't choose right now to be stubborn because this had been a completely spur-of-the-moment idea and he wasn't sure how he would handle it if she starting analyzing and questioning. He had acted so quickly, making a couple of phone calls and jumping in his car, that he hadn't given himself time to admit how lame the whole idea was, but it was becoming pretty clear now.

"You're lying." She began to tell him just what she thought when there was another, admittedly less obnoxious, knock at the door. "What is that?"

"Food." He started limping towards the door, reaching for his wallet. "I ordered some food."

She didn't know what to say. She had been invaded. "Anything else?"

House paid the kid who hauled in two pizza boxes, a case of soda, and three Styrofoam carryout boxes. "Yeah. Wilson's going to be joining us."

"His TV broken?"

"No. His wife is. She hates football and invited a bunch of equally strange females to their house to play cards or something." He paused. "You don't hate football do you?"

She just stood there.

He spoke before she could kick his ass out. "Listen, just go back and get changed before Wilson gets here – he doesn't need to add this to his mental picture of you – then come back out and watch football. Yell at the refs. Eat junk food." She was not going to buy this. He clutched the top of his cane for support.

She glared at him for another few seconds then spun around and marched back to her room. "I hope Wilson's bringing beer," she yelled.

"He is." A tiny bit of the tension drained out. Now he had to figure out what exactly he had hoped to accomplish by doing this.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** Don't own House. Thanks for checking, though.

**A/N:** I took a break from work when I finally figured out how to handle this. Ever write yourself into a corner? That's how I was feeling after the last chapter. Please keep letting me know what you think. I can never have too much praise and/or constructive criticism. Thanks!

OOOO

Somewhere between monster trucks and corsages. That's where Allison figured she would have to place this particular afternoon. Greg House was sitting in her living room watching football and alternating between throwing barbed comments at the TV with throwing the popcorn that Allison had made earlier.

"Punting? Are you kidding me? What a dumbass." He took a drink of the beer Wilson had brought. "Fourth quarter, down by six, thirty-five yards to go, and he's calling a punt."

"They don't have a kicker," interjected Wilson.

"They don't have a coach either."

"You liked him when he called the pass earlier."

"The water boy probably came up with that one," sniped House.

Allison wasn't sure what exactly they were talking about. Not that she didn't know anything about football. She had grown up in the Midwest and she had brothers. She knew something about football, but she was having a little trouble paying attention. It wasn't very often that she saw House so relaxed. She saw it the last time on their date-that-wasn't-a-date when he had been absolutely enthralled by the humongous trucks. She had had trouble paying attention then, too. A relaxed House was a sight to behold.

He hadn't started out that way. After she had changed into actual clothes and had joined him at the TV, he had been downright surly. She figured he must have been having second thoughts about showing up at her door. Once Wilson had arrived and the game had begun in earnest, though, he had calmed down to the point that he eventually threw a hot wing at her TV. That was when she had made the popcorn. Easier to clean up.

She saw him throw his hands up in the air and she looked back at the game. The punt had resulted in a return of forty yards. Not a good thing.

They were actually into their second game. Allison hadn't said much the whole time because she had been too busy thinking. She had a feeling that Wilson understood that this was a little more than she knew how to handle. When he had come in, he had winked at her. She found herself thanking him for coming in a slightly desperate way.

"Like I'd miss this." He smiled and took the beer to the fridge.

That had been several hours ago. House had sat at the end of the couch farthest from the chair that Allison occupied, and Wilson sat on the end closest to her. A buffer, she thought. The floor was spotted with not only popcorn but also beer bottles and soda cans (Allison's choice). There were a couple of stray paper plates and the lone hot wing that House had whiffed at the TV.

She would hate to admit it, given the fact that she wasn't exactly sure what was going on here, but she was actually having fun. It had been a while since she had done something like this. She had always gotten along with guys and found Saturdays like this to be relaxing. She couldn't completely relax this time, however, because the nagging voice in her head was telling her that House absolutely could not leave until he explained himself, but she was ignoring that at the moment.

House and Wilson were both yelling now. A tackle had been missed it seemed, and the winning team had gained more yardage. They were arguing with each other over strategy, and Allison looked back at the TV. The quarterback dropped back, faked a hand-off, and threw the ball – right into the hands of the linebacker of the losing team.

"Interceptioned!" Allison shrieked. Both men spun back to the screen and started whooping and whistling as the large, overgrown defensive man ran the ball in for a touchdown.

"_Interceptioned_?" House teased after the hollering had died down.

She stuck her tongue out at him and stood up to stretch her legs for a second.

"Giving up?"

"On what?" she asked.

"The game." House answered.

Good question, she thought. Deserves a good answer.

"Why would I do that?" She smiled innocently. "Seems to me that the coach just made some bad choices. Maybe he'll get his head out of his ass and they'll still win."

House just looked at her.

"God help me." Wilson groaned. "If you two are done throwing cheesy euphemisms around, they're about to go for the extra point in the actual game on the TV."

Allison smirked and sat back down. The kicker made the point and after a couple of close calls, the previously "dumbass" coach had been elevated to the status of a guy who "might know what he's doing" as his team won the game.

OOOO

"Ever consider getting a cleaning lady?" House limped in from the kitchen where he had just deposited the paper plates into the trash can.

"Ever consider not throwing sticky food around the room?" retorted Allison, who was on her knees trying to get hot sauce out of her carpet. "Besides, a cleaning lady isn't exactly in my budget."

"You could have negotiated for that instead of a date." Might as well jump in head first.

She sat back on her heels and looked at him. "So the fun's over for the day?"

"I didn't really come over to watch football, you know." He was trying awfully hard to be smooth about this, but that was not something anyone had ever accused him of being, so he was fairly certain that he was going to stick his foot in it at some point. He just wondered when that would be.

"Interesting cover story." She sighed and picked up what was left of the trash. She took the empty pizza boxes to the kitchen and came back for the take-out boxes. There were still two wings and a jalapeno popper left. "Will you eat this?"

"No, toss it if you don't want it." Wilson had abandoned him at the end of the second game. He had claimed that Julie expected him home. House didn't buy it – mostly because as he was leaving Wilson had leaned in and told him to "get something straightened out."

He really wanted to do just that, but he wasn't sure how to go about it. He at least wanted to get them back on a footing that he could deal with. This week had been hell for him. He had gone from pissed on Wednesday to anxious on Friday. In between times, he had tried to convince himself that if he just didn't pay attention to her, everything would be okay. The problem was that she couldn't be ignored, at least not after his first disastrous attempt to ignore her and focus on Stacy had ended the way it had.

His anxiety on her behalf was due in part to the fact that he just couldn't see her as someone who could, in the long run, handle something like walking in on her boyfriend and another woman. It was exacerbated by the guilt that he felt because it had been Stacy and by the strong twinge of jealously that he felt at the knowledge that Allison had been dating someone without his approval.

Logically, he knew she didn't need his approval, and he knew that she would cheerfully kick his ass at the thought. Logic hadn't played a huge role in his relationship with her, though, not since he had hired her. During commercials for pickup trucks and beer, he had realized that he was very tired. He was tired of dealing with this without her input. It was time for a conference. There was no white board, but they needed to get the problems out in the air.

He grinned. He could just see Cuddy running for the psych department. House wanted to talk about his feelings! Someone get in here with a couch and a tape of soothing whale noises now!

"So why did you come over?" She was sitting again on the same chair she had been in all day. He settled himself where Wilson had been. He didn't want her to think he was afraid of her.

"Anyone ever tell you that you can be very direct?"

"Oh, here we go. Okay. I'll play along." She shifted in the chair and her voice took on a mildly snide tone. "Look who's talking. You come barging in here with no warning, bringing food that doesn't come up off the carpet easily, and inviting your only crony to tag along. How is that not direct?"

"It wasn't too long ago that you wouldn't have minded me showing up on your doorstep unannounced."

Silence.

"Low blow. Sorry about that." He pulled his pill bottle out of his pocket. "I'm not sure what to say here, Cameron. I think we need to put our cards on the table, but that will require me talking about _feelings_." He sneered. "You know better than most people how well I do that."

"Once you get going, you do pretty well if I remember correctly." She crossed her arms across her body. "Of course, if you bothered to ask you'd find out that you don't know what you're talking about."

This time he was the one who was quiet.

"But I don't think that's what you want to talk about," she added.

More silence.

Allison realized that a discussion of this nature was next to impossible for him. As much as she wanted him to take the lead, she decided that coming over here had probably been the only thing he was going to give. She unfolded her arms and pulled her legs up, resting her chin on her knees.

"I liked him, you know."

Okay, maybe not what he wanted to hear, but it was a start.

"Well, sometimes that's the way it goes." Somehow that didn't sound like what he wanted it to sound like.

She laughed, sounding a little too jaded to his ears. "That's the way it goes, huh? Yep. It would certainly seem so. I like a guy and I end up getting kicked in the teeth." She managed not to sound too pissed at his comment. She didn't want him bolting yet.

He was obviously searching for something to say, and she wanted to buy him some time. "This is really the stupidest thing I've ever experienced in my life. The irony of it all is disgusting." She paused, trying to give him time to add something. She got nothing so she went on. "I really think that aside from the initial anger, that I was, maybe still am, more embarrassed than anything."

"You mentioned that the other day."

"Oh. Well, I guess we don't need to revisit old territory, do we?" She was getting frustrated. He needed to say something. Anything at this point would be good. "I suppose you're still pretty upset with Stacy."

"Why would I be upset? She left five years ago; she left again this week. Just a bad rerun."

"You're lying." A direct challenge.

"Not a very nice thing to say."

"Feeling less and less nice as the minutes crawl by here." He still didn't respond.

"She came by to see me, you know." She tried to get a rise out of him, remembering Stacy's words to her.

"What?"

She was silently glad to hear his sharp tone.

"Why did she do that? I told her not to." He was glaring at her.

"She said she wanted to apologize or some such thing." Allison had to look away from him. He was more intense than he had been all day. She started to get an inkling about what was going on inside his head. Could that possibly be anger on her behalf? Hmmm. That was an interesting thought.

"Did she?" he asked.

"Did she…apologize?" She shook the revelation from her head for a moment. "She tried. I didn't really give her much of a chance."

"Getting pretty ballsy in your old age, are you?" He grinned and lifted an eyebrow.

She shivered. That was one of the looks that caused her to all but throw herself at him a few months ago. "Maybe. Of course, I've been learning from the master." She realized too late that he could probably turn that into something lewd. She was pleased that he either didn't catch the slip or chose to ignore it.

He still wasn't jumping in with any startling revelations, so she continued herself. "What I have been wondering is why she chose Randy. It's not like she couldn't have her pick." She looked back at him. "Still nothing to say? Well, if I were completely paranoid, I would say that she chose him specifically."

He looked up at her.

"Not that I really know her all that well. Truth be told I never really wanted to try, but I was stupid and naïve enough to tell her that I had gone out with you. That couldn't have made her very happy, wouldn't you say? I mean, you certainly know her a lot better than I ever did."

"Maybe."

Allison stood up. "House, you're the one who just said that we needed to put our cards on the table. Start dealing because I have said all I'm going to for now."

He moved to the edge of the couch. "Cameron…"

"Are you angry? Are you jealous? You have a pretty impressive vocabulary, Doctor. Surely you can think of something to say." She was surprised to find herself getting more impatient.

"I'm angry."

"Good start." She motioned with her hand. "Keep going."

"I'm angry because I never thought she could do something like that." He let some of it come out, much to Cameron's relief. "I'm angry because she chose to take her disgust with me out on you."

"Is that what you think?" She couldn't have been more shocked at his admission.

"What else would I think?" He stood up himself. He reached to the end of the couch and grabbed his cane. "I'm not saying that she could have known that you would be coming in, but she had to have known that you were seeing him." He shrugged. "I'm sure she knew what she was doing. She said she didn't but I can't believe her."

"You asked?"

His confessional had run out of steam, though, and he couldn't respond the way she wanted him to. He walked toward the window in her living room.

"Do you love him?" He asked instead.

"What?" Whoa. That was not what she expected.

"Do you love him?" He was addressing her but kept his eyes fixed on the world outside.

"No. No, I don't love him. I liked him, but I didn't love him. Why?" Now she was confused.

His protectiveness had kicked back in, and he couldn't seem to stop trying to comfort her. He tried to keep his tone brisk. "If you don't love him, it will make it easier to get over it. What they did was terrible, and that you had to see it was worse, but if you don't love him it shouldn't stick with you."

"Like it's stuck with you." She realized she had just switched topics to Stacy's direct injustice towards House.

"Yes, it has, but this has too." He lifted the cane up. "I'm pretty certain that if she hadn't left me when she did, if she had left before the infarction, I would have dealt with it better. She really needs to work on her timing." He tried for another grin and almost succeeded.

Damn. Allison would give anything for a camera or a tape recorder right now. She'd be willing to bet that he had never said that to anyone in five years. Wilson would probably choke.

She moved to her couch and sat down. She was in shock, but it didn't feel bad. She felt a perverse happiness at knowing that she knew something about House that no one else knew. He still stood looking out the window and she took his silence this time as a chance to gather her thoughts. She really wasn't comfortable with the fact that the feelings she had started to push out of her mind and heart were sneaking back in. She must not have liked Randy too much if the sight of him bare-assed in his office had pushed her back into the realm of House. She chuckled.

"What?" House turned back around and moved toward the couch.

"Nothing."

He didn't believe her, but he shrugged and sat down next to her. Not right next to her – still some safety space, but close enough.

"I wonder if she'll tell Mark," she stated.

"I really doubt it."

"Poor guy."

This time House chuckled. "Amazing. You're worried about Mark." He laughed again. "If she does, I'll suggest to him that we form a club. We'll call it the 'Men Who Have Been Screwed Over By Stacy Association.' I, of course, will be president since I have been dealing the longest."

"Not very acronym-friendly."

"Well, I can work on that."

Things were silent again, and a bit awkward, both of them having ventured into emotional territory that they tried to avoid. House rested his chin on the handle of his cane. He stared at the blank TV in front of him.

Allison was searching for something to say. This was not a terribly comfortable silence. It was as if they both knew that any more talking would lead them into areas they really weren't ready to deal with yet.

Then her phone rang.

They both jumped, and Allison all but ran to the phone. It was her mother. Perfect.

After the initial greetings, Allison found herself trying to respond to her mother's question about how she had spent her day. House was still staring at nothing, but Allison knew he wasn't missing any of this.

"I watched football."

"No, not with Randy."

"With …a friend from work and my … boss."

"Yes, that's who I mean."

"His…um… TV is broken."

House listened to Cameron fumble around for a way to explain his presence in her home. He turned his head toward her. She was looking a little desperate. He could understand that. What was she supposed to say? "Mom, my boss, whom I've dated, is here because his ex slept with my boyfriend and now we're trying to figure out how exactly to tread those waters? Oh, yeah. My boss? He might be regretting treating me like shit." Not a conversation he wanted to hear.

House stood up and walked to the door. He lifted his hand in an abbreviated wave. She tripped coming over to him as she cut her mom off. Holding the receiver against her stomach, she reached out and grabbed his arm. "Where are you going?"

He just looked at her. She seemed tiny without the high heels she usually wore. And she looked horribly young standing there in her white socks. He patted her on the shoulder. "See you Monday." And he left.

Allison watched the door shut. She went into the living and sat back down. She put the phone back to her ear, but she had missed whatever her mom was chatting about. "Can I call you back, Mom?" After assuring her that everything was okay, Allison hung up, laid her head back, and closed her eyes, emotionally exhausted and maybe a little defeated.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** My financial advisor says I need to stop thinking about owning House until I get my credit cards paid off. Until that happens, I'm just playing around.

**A/N: **Sorry this took so long. I should be able to update more quickly after this weekend. Thanks for your patience, and thank you a million times over for the lovely reviews and suggestions. BTW, **house-of-insanity**, I did what you asked with the anonymous review thingy. I didn't even realize that was a possibility since I'm relatively new to this. Also, thanks to those who recommendedthis storyon YTDAW. That absolutely made my day!

OOOO

"You can't be serious!"

"Of course I'm serious, this is a load of crap and if you'd bother to put your medical degree to use you'd know that too."

"You are so completely off the mark. Look at the test results! It's obvious. You're wrong."

"I am not wrong. I'm the boss."

"Now there's a winning argument. I suppose that being the boss makes you automatically right all the time."

"No, it means that when I tell you to do an MRI, you do the MRI."

He looked at her standing there steaming. "Go!"

House was surprised the door didn't shatter when she whipped it open.

OOOO

It was Wednesday, four days after football and an entire week since the debacle that had moved the whole mess between Dr. House and Dr. Cameron into new territory. By all accounts (those being Chase and Foreman's accounts), on Monday, Cameron had been quiet, almost subdued, as if she had a lot on her mind that didn't have anything to do with diagnostic medicine. That was easily remedied when House had used the word "moronic" in reference to a diagnosis she had suggested. Subdued was the last word either of her fellow minions would have used to describe her after that.

By Wilson's observation, though, Cameron was never even close to subdued. Nervous and edgy maybe, but not subdued. She had been spending less time hiding in the lab and more time slamming things around in House's office for the past couple of days. On Tuesday, he had actually seen her snatch the giant tennis ball out of the air mid-toss and insist that House come and look at a rash that had appeared on their new patient's stomach. What was truly amazing, in Wilson's opinion, was that House had actually gone to look. Not without muttered comments, but he had still gone to look.

"So when are you going to ask her out again?" Being a voyeur could be so much fun and so darned rewarding.

"I'm not."

"Oh?"

"Nope. I 'm just going to leave things where they are. She's the employee and I'm the boss. She does what I tell her to do, and I continue to piss her off." House winced inwardly. It was funny the way things sounded good rattling around in his brain, but intensely stupid coming out of his mouth.

"So what was the point of Saturday's little exhibition?" prodded Wilson.

House sighed. He had no idea. No. Not true. He did have an idea, but it wasn't one he was comfortable with at all.

"You just sighed. And it was rather heartfelt. I'm touched."

House glared – kind of. He had left Cameron's apartment on Saturday feeling not as bad as he had before he had arrived, but that call from her mother had thrown him. He, Greg House, the older, crippled, misanthropic boss and Allison Cameron, the younger, prettier, healthier, people loving…well, it just didn't add up. He was glad that they had talked, which was saying a lot for him, but he really didn't think it should go any further than that.

Now he sat in the cafeteria, which was buzzing with families, patients, and staff at the lunch rush. He contemplated his sandwich, which didn't look appetizing even to him, and then looked back at his supposed best friend, who was sporting the look of a seasoned wise-ass.

"You're enjoying this too much." House figured that if Wilson leaned back in his chair much farther, he could send the oncologist tumbling with a well-placed jab of the cane.

"Not really, but if you want you can call it payback for all the time you've spent razzing me about my marriage."

"Marriages, you mean. Have to be honest after all," corrected House.

"You liked the first one," countered Wilson.

"Still do. You should dump the walking credit card and look her up."

"You're trying to change the subject."

"I thought I'd succeeded," House mumbled through the corned beef.

"Did you really tell her that her diagnosis was _moronic_?" Wilson would never cease being amazed at the things that came out of House's mouth. He wondered sometimes if House even knew what he was saying before he said it.

"Yes, I did." House was determined not to be bothered by what he had said to Cameron earlier that week. She had not been thinking; in medicine there was no room for sloppy diagnoses. "She's a member of my staff. She sounded like an idiot."

Wilson's eyebrows shot up. "If you were a normal man I'd tell you that a couple dozen of the rarest flower you can find might fix that one. You're you, so I don't know what to tell you."

"I didn't ask."

"Of course you didn't. I'm telling you anyway. It's one thing to have her on staff and treat her like anyone else, it's an entirely different thing to treat her like dirt."

"I treat Chase like dirt. I don't have to send him flowers."

"Chase isn't the one you've got the hots for."

"Oh, that's a nice picture."

"Would you stop for just one second and think? God, what is your problem? No. Don't answer that. I know what your problem is."

House looked at his friend with disdain. "Really?"

"You are a chicken, my friend."

House rolled his eyes and looked around the cafeteria, but Wilson didn't stop there.

"You know it really is a tired excuse."

"What is?"

"That you're too old, too crippled, and too mean."

"Since when did you start reading minds?"

Wilson ignored him. "She obviously doesn't care. Or at least she didn't before your stellar performance of a few months ago."

Wilson got no response because House had stopped listening when he had noticed two things. One was that Cameron was sitting by herself at a table in the middle of the room. The second was that Randy Crawford was heading straight for her.

OOOO

Allison Cameron didn't see Crawford coming. She was too busy considering the issue of vertebrae. Specifically, she was wondering whether she had grown enough of them to constitute a backbone. Her conclusion was that she hadn't, given the fact that she had just scheduled their patient for the MRI that she knew the woman didn't need.

She sat at the cafeteria table picking at a wilted salad. She watched the doctors and visitors move around. Some of the patients' family members and friends looked relaxed, eating and laughing, as if they were out to lunch at a trendy eatery rather than a hospital. She noticed the others, too – the families of patients who weren't doing well. They were not happy to be there. Some looked haggard and were picking at food. Others were just nursing coffee. A few were staring out at nothing.

Human beings fascinated Allison. She had always been curious about their motives and their actions. She had just never accepted that there were some people – like her boss and/or football buddy – who were next to impossible to figure out.

"Allison?"

She dropped her head down. Ah, a human who wasn't so hard to figure out. He ranked right there in the brainless twit category. She looked back up.

"Please go away."

Randy Crawford gave her that smile that she had thought was so charming at one time. He was unrumpled, shaven, and clear-eyed. He was good looking. Not in the way some of the Abercrombie and Fitch models were good looking. He was safer. More like a Penney's ad.

Allison narrowed her glare. The bastard was also tan.

"Seriously. Go away."

"Allison, I think…"

"I don't care what you think. I just want you to go away and leave me alone."

"Please let me…"

"Let you what?" Allison was talking through her teeth, but she was very aware of the fact that most of the staff members in the cafeteria were watching them. "Did you think that if you came to me in the middle of the cafeteria that I would cave and let you tell me how sorry you are?" She clenched her fists on the table top and then threatened, "If you don't go away, I'll really give this hospital something to talk about and I won't need a cane to do it."

To his credit, Crawford didn't flinch at the mention of the cane that had been planted a little too firmly against his chest several days before, but that's not to say that he didn't hear her perfectly. "Fine, but you need to realize, Allison, that things like this happen all the time."

"Really? Not in my world, you ass." She looked at him one more time and sneered. "Looks like Dr. House's suggestion of a vacation was a good one." She smiled prettily. "Did you find any bimbos or lawyers to hook up with while you were getting that tan?"

That time Crawford did flinch. In all likelihood, Allison realized, playing the House card every once in while might be a positive experience. At least in situations like this.

He stood up a little straighter and turned away. He then noticed all the people who were either openly curious or were shooting nasty looks his way. Apparently, Allison Cameron inspired loyalty in a lot of people. He, apparently, did not. "Good bye, Allison." And he scurried out.

Allison herself looked around and saw the eyes of dozens of people looking at her. She gave a big smile and waved at everyone. Most of the heads snapped around to their lunches. Gossip was one thing. Getting caught going after gossip was another.

Her gaze came to rest on a pair of eyes that were absolutely furious looking. Now there was one face that wasn't going to be in any clothing magazine. Definitely not safe. Scruffy, uncombed, and…oh, hell, who was she kidding? She'd buy whatever he was selling.

She laughed at herself. Cheese-y. He was walking over with Wilson in tow. One of these days, he was going to have to lose the sidekick.

Both men put their trays down at her table. Wilson said nothing, but it was clear that he was planning to be entertained.

"Enjoying this, aren't you?" Allison asked the oncologist.

"You know, he just asked me the same thing." He pointed at House. "I'm not sure, but I'm here for the ride."

House bit into his sandwich. He was watching Cameron from the corner of his eye.

"Are you afraid I'm going to have a meltdown?" She asked him.

Wilson grinned and leaned back in his chair.

"What did he want?" asked House.

"To apologize in an extremely public way." She took another bite of her now warmish salad. "Then he told me I should get used to that kind of behavior."

House looked knowingly at Wilson, who did not take kindly to the implication. "Hey, now, don't lump me in with someone like him."

House just raised his eyebrows and then took another bite of his sandwich.

"I flirt. I don't have sex on my desk at work with married women," protested Wilson.

"I counted three different qualifiers in that sentence," House pointed out.

Allison listened to the two men continued to jab at each other in the semi-good natured way they had. About a minute later, she found herself thinking that she liked the fact that House had a friend who was willing to deal with all his issues. House didn't always make that enjoyable, she was sure, but it had to be worth something to the man who had been through so much hard stuff in recent years. She let that toss around in her brain for a moment, then she swore. This was not good. This was not blackberry and ginger tea to soothe hay fever. This was caring about the man's emotional state, for God's sake. She'd been down this road and been burned. Judging from his reaction Saturday, he wouldn't be too pleased by her train of thought. She huff out an impatient sigh and picked up her tray to go.

The men stopped mid-snark and turned puzzled looks her way.

"I have to go do that MRI."

"So you caved and signed up?" House prepared himself for a nasty comment and was mildly disappointed when none came.

"Yeah. It's for one o'clock." She turned and hurried out.

"What the hell was that all about?" House wondered out loud.

"I'd really suggest that you go find out," stated Wilson.

OOOO

A full MRI generally took about forty-five minutes, not counting the time to get the patient to the machine and on the table. House figured that he had anywhere from an hour to an hour and a half before he could actually hunt down Cameron and find out what her problem was. Not that he didn't know what her problem was, but he realized that he needed to hear her say it – as insecure and ridiculous as that might seem.

He was going to wait for the MRI to be done, though, because he was confident about that at least. He hoped he was right, anyway, because if he wasn't she was going to give him hell.

When enough time had passed, he made his way to his office, assuming that Cameron would be there. When he found that she wasn't and that Foreman and Chase hadn't seen her, he covertly looked in the clinic – no sense in having Cuddy see him there when he wasn't scheduled to be. No luck there either. She wasn't one to hide on the roof and Wilson was in a consultation, so both of those places were out. House headed to the place he probably should have checked first but had avoided because if he found her there, that would be a great indication that she was not in a good mood.

Sure enough, he saw her bent over a microscope in the lab. The room was ridiculously lighted, and the darkness always made her look all the more vulnerable with her pale skin and big eyes.

He pushed his way through the door and she looked up at him. "The results from the MRI aren't back yet."

"I didn't think they would be." He paused. No beating around the bush. "Crawford showing up really threw you didn't it?"

"Oh. Are we sharing again?" She pushed away from the microscope. "No. He did exactly what I thought he'd do."

House raised his eyebrows in question.

"I knew he'd choose a completely public place to approach me. The embarrassment factor on my part would be just perfect – that's the way my karma works, after all – and he would be too scared to see me in private. He was probably going for the idea that I wouldn't kill him if I had witnesses."

"No one would have blamed you if you had."

"Maybe. I didn't have the chance, though. All it took was mentioning your name and he ran." She stayed seated on the lab stool with her hands on her knees and her heels propped up on the top rung.

"Well, I guess that's one radiologist we won't be able to call in for a consult any more."

"Another one, you mean."

"I'm nothing if not consistent." He walked over to the table that held the centrifuge that Cameron had cried over once and leaned against it. "So, if it wasn't Crawford who made you leave in such a hurry, what did?"

She avoided the question. "Do you ever notice how often we have little chats in here? Don't you think it's weird?"

"Neutral ground. Scientific, too. Less emotion."

"Really? Are you really that unemotional, Dr. House?"

"Are you trying to turn the tables on me, Dr. Cameron?"

The two very stubborn people just stared at each other for several seconds. Both wanted the other to be the first to admit to something. Neither was sure the other could handle it or wanted to hear it.

House was the one who eventually lost the staring contest. He was stubborn, but he had not been shredded by Cameron in the past, as she had been by him. Stacy may have nearly destroyed him, but at least it wasn't she who was sitting in front of him waiting.

"I was worried that Crawford had upset you," he began.

"I'm surprised you didn't come to the table when he was there." Cameron was willing to say a little, if it kept him talking.

He snorted. "Wilson stopped me. He told me you needed to handle it yourself. Maybe I should have ignored him."

"No, I'm glad you didn't." She shrugged. "I wanted to do it myself."

"Good." His eyes flitted around the room. Maybe she would go next.

Cameron watched House looking lost. It amazed her that a man who was as incredibly brilliant as he was so very inept when it came to carrying on a conversation.

He surprised her by speaking again. "So why did you leave?" He started tapping his cane on the side of the table.

She contemplated him for a moment. She could use the MRI as an excuse, but she didn't really think that he would buy it given the fact that she had been so against it in the first place. She could also tell him the truth, but she didn't think he could handle that.

"I don't trust you enough to tell you," she said bluntly.

That did not make him happy. "Isn't that nice. Here I am trying to figure out what the hell is going on, trying to be _open_, and you don't trust me." He stood away from the table. "You used to tell me when you had a hangnail, now you won't tell me anything."

"I told you plenty when you were at my place," she countered. She hopped off the stool and planted herself a few feet in front of him.

"That was a different issue. Unless, of course, in the past hour and a half another boyfriend I don't know about has cheated on you." He voice was starting to raise. People strolling past the lab picked up their pace.

"What is the issue then, Dr. House?" Cameron had her hands on her hips. House's voice wasn't the only one scaring people away now.

"You just said you don't trust me," he pointed out heatedly.

"Why should I? When I'm _open_ with you, you throw it back in my face. Maybe I don't want to deal with that again."

"You talked on Saturday."

"Well, like you said, that was another issue. If your married ex-girlfriend has sex with my boyfriend, I'll be sure to discuss it with you."

"What boyfriend?" House's eyes had narrowed, and Cameron had to keep from laughing.

"There is no boyfriend." She let a small chuckle escape. "Jealous?"

"Maybe."

Okay. There was nothing funny about that.

"Well, there's no reason to be," she stammered.

He took a step towards her. "You're repeating yourself."

She inched back against a counter. His eyes were predatory and there was a small grin on his lips. "What do you want?" she asked in confusion.

He continued walking towards her and put his hands on either side of hips on the counter. "I want you to tell me why you left the cafeteria in such a rush."

She was trapped. And, damn it, every single idiotic, foolish feeling that she had ever had for the man came rushing back full force. The trickle of the past week had become a flood. She was staring into his eyes, and he was less than a foot from her. She found herself telling him exactly what had happened.

"I freaked out because I was watching you with Wilson and I thought how great it was that you had someone you could talk to. I didn't want to worry about your well-being, and that's exactly what I was doing." He didn't react, so she continued. "I don't want to be in the same place I was last spring with you. It hurt too much."

He stood still for a moment and then straightened. She sighed and mentally kicked herself for admitting all of that. Just as she was about to make a dash for it, he reached over and touched her cheek. He nodded slowly. "I guess I can understand that." He moved his fingers back and tucked an imaginary lock of hair behind her ear. He had an incredibly solemn look on his face. "We'll just have to fix that."

Allison's knees almost gave out. Simple touches like that from a man like him were almost too much to handle. She couldn't move. She just stood there looking at him, nodding stupidly.

They both jumped when a messenger came barreling through the lab doors with films in his hands. He looked at both of the doctors; the pretty one was looking rather relieved and Dr. House was looking murderous. The messenger thrust the envelope into House's hands. "These are for you – from the imaging department." And then he was gone.

House hobbled over to the light box to see what was wrong with their patient. After a couple of seconds, he felt Allison standing at his elbow. He scowled at what he saw.

"Told you so," she said. "Now who's the moron?"


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: **Don't own House, but how kind of you for thinking it could be possible.

**A/N:** So much to comment on. Disturbing spoilers (eew!) and an excess of baseball (sorry to the fans out there) have me agitated. Not to mention the piles of ungraded essays and a high school homecoming week to organize and run that have left me with little time to update. (Notice, though, that I am updating and not grading.)

Anyway, this is it – the end of this particular story. Thanks to all who have read and reviewed. As I've said before, you've made this more fun than I thought it could be.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Now who's the moron?"

House bit back a grin. He liked feisty Cameron, but she was going to pay for that one. He turned his head to snap back but never got the chance.

"About time someone besides me called you that."

House groaned and gritted his teeth. "Jesus! Why don't all of you people just go away?" he yelled. He craned his neck around to see Lisa Cuddy smirking in the doorway of the lab.

Cameron grimaced. This was getting ridiculous. First her mother, then the messenger. Now Dr. Cuddy. Oh, wait. Couldn't forget the ever-present Dr. Wilson. She was starting to believe that she was in the middle of a very clichéd romance novel. She was amused, though, by the apparent level of frustration that Greg House was currently feeling. He looked like he could chew through chains.

"Well, honestly. I just came in to remind Dr. Cameron that she is due in the clinic in about ten minutes. I didn't want you to make her late." Cuddy smiled sweetly. The glass windows in the lab had afforded her a good view of their argument and then what followed. Even though she considered a relationship with House to be the height of masochism, she still had shivered a little when she had seen the way he had touched Cameron. Despite that, she was glad that the messenger from imaging had interrupted when he did because she didn't think that the middle of the lab in the middle of the hospital was really a great place to finally come to terms with one's feelings. God knew House needed all the help he could get, so Cuddy considered her interruption to be very well-timed and fortuitous. Obviously, House didn't agree.

Cuddy watched as House turned around slowly and as Cameron followed suit. The two doctors stood there for just a couple of seconds, neither one of them willing to let go of whatever connection had been achieved in the past few minutes. In that short moment, Cuddy recognized something she had thought she'd never see again. House had managed to find someone whom he was actually in sync with. As stupid as it sounded, Cuddy thought that the two looked good together.

She chuckled. What a thought for a Dean of Medicine. She should be discouraging this sort of thing. She should recognize it for the possible problems it would cause and the ugliness that might ensue, but she just couldn't do it.

She waved Cameron through the door. "The clinic awaits, Dr. Cameron."

Cameron walked towards the door feeling rather petulant. She really didn't want to leave because she was afraid that he would use this as an excuse to cancel out any progress that they might have made. It was as if the lab were a protective bubble where she and House could actually deal with each other without completely screwing things up.

She sighed and was about to walk out when the little doctor voice in the back of her mind stopped her. She turned and looked at the samples sitting next to the microscope that she had been studying before House had come in.

"Um, I need to …" she began and pointed towards the counter.

"I'll take care of it," said House.

She nodded and reluctantly started to leave again.

"Cameron." House's voice made her stop quickly.

"What?"

"When we decide on the next course of treatment, I'll send you a message."

"Oh, right our patient." She nodded, deflated.

Cuddy jumped in. "No, Dr. Cameron. What he means is when he figures out how in the hell he is ever going to be able to talk to you without someone interrupting, he'll let you know." She gave Cameron a gentle shove on the back. "Now go. There's a backlog of sick people who need to be dealt with."

Cameron left, blushing.

House glared at Cuddy, who only smiled and asked, "You do realize that this place has glass walls, don't you?"

"Kind of hard to miss that," he snarked.

"Well, it was kind of hard to miss what was happening in here a few minutes ago." She raised an eyebrow at him.

"I suppose that now you're going to start telling me all of the bad things that can happen when co-workers have a relationship." He limped over to the counter and began organizing the stuff Cameron had left there.

"No, I have a feeling – knowing you like I do – that you have thought about every single one of them all by yourself." She leaned against the counter, arms folded in front of her and a small smile on her face. "I'm sure you've also thought about all the potential problems when one of the co-workers is actually the boss, as well."

"It's crossed my mind." He really didn't want to look at Cuddy. He was afraid if he did that she would tell him to forget it, that it would be completely unethical for him to be involved with Cameron. A few months ago, he would have jumped on that. Now, he dreaded it. Feisty Cameron, angry Cameron, weepy Cameron, too-nice-for-her-own-damned-good Cameron. He liked all the flavors. A lot. He had finally figured that out, and he found himself afraid that Cuddy would try to snatch it all away.

"As long as you've thought about it," she reached over and patted him on the arm, "you'll be okay."

House turned a puzzled eye toward her.

"I know. I'm supposed to squelch this, but like I told you once before, she may be the only woman who can put up with you. And if it makes you just that much more bearable, who am I to stand in the way?" She pushed away from the counter and started for the door. "May I just make one suggestion?"

"Could I stop you?"

"Don't let the day go by without finishing whatever it was you were starting in here." She raised a hand to stop the comment that was about to fly from House's mouth. "And don't turn that into something disgusting. I just mean, find someplace where you can actually talk to her. Somewhere that doesn't remind her or you that you're her boss. And don't invade her apartment without warning. That can't possibly turn out well."

"How did you…?" House stopped himself. "Never mind."

"You're not the only sneak around here."

OOOO

In the middle of dealing with a colicky baby in the clinic, Cameron's cell phone vibrated in her lab coat pocket. She did the unprofessional thing and excused herself to see what was going on. She was hoping that whatever was on the screen would calm her jumpy stomach, but the message only served to kick the butterflies into high gear.

"_My place. 7:00. Don't eat."_

Right. Like she could keep anything down.

OOOO

At six forty-five, House had already taken slightly more than the recommended dosage of Vicodin, not that there was anything unusual about that, but he really wanted to take a couple more so that he might relax just a tiny bit. He forced himself to stay out of the brown bottle. Whatever happened here, he was at least smart enough to know that he shouldn't be stoned when it did.

Cameron was coming to his apartment for what could only be called a date. Or possibly a negotiation. The last time she had been there, she'd come to quit. God, that would be just dandy. Surely he hadn't completely misread the situation. He knew her too well. Of course, there was always the possibility that she would not show or that she would show up and then tell him that he was insane.

House took a deep breath and silently berated himself for being so uptight.

This was territory he hadn't explored in a really long time. College, he thought, was the last time he had been so nervous about a new female in his life. Later, with Stacy, there had been no time for nerves. She had been like a gale force wind that had blown in and knocked him over. There had been no hesitation and, well, no thought involved in their relationship. She had moved in so quickly that House wasn't even sure whose idea it had been. All he had known at the time was that one day he was living the single life, and the next he wasn't.

This was far less fun. He wasn't enjoying this whole thing with Cameron because he was so completely horrible at dealing with other people. He knew that. He accepted it. He reveled in it most of the time. He had built his entire reputation on the grouchy bastard persona, and he had no intention of altering that. What he was willing to change, he had decided, was where Cameron fit into the grand scheme of things. He liked her, and he wanted her around. Apparently, she liked him and wanted him around, too, but he couldn't convince himself that this could possibly work. His only hope was that she was okay with him "as is."

The entire afternoon he had waited for a message from her telling him that she had changed her mind. The only one he had received had said, _"I'm not dressing up."_ He had laughed (scaring Foreman and Chase), but he couldn't quell the feeling that this wasn't going to go anywhere.

Cuddy was right; he had thought this through from nearly every angle. He wasn't stupid enough to try to convince himself that he wanted her to pal around with. He had Wilson for that. He still wasn't sure that he wasn't too old or too crippled for her, but he found himself willing to let her decide that.

Actually, as he sat on his couch, nervously playing with his cane atsix fiftythat evening, he figured that he had Stacy to thank for his change of heart. They hadn't thought anything through in the years that they had lived together. They had burned hot and fast. Like flash powder. Obviously, that had not been a great way to go about things. He wasn't sure that they had ever really dealt with anything seriously until his infarction. He wasn't even sure they had known each other all that well. He had loved her, and he thought that she had probably loved him, but it had never been something lasting. The future had never come into the equation.

Cameron was different. He had known her for close to two years. They had fought horribly and they had had fun. He respected her skills as a doctor, but, more importantly, he respected her skills in dealing with him. She knew when to push, when to yell, and when to back away. He, in turn, had learned that there were times when he needed to push her, yell at her, and back away.

That was at work, though. Outside of work, he wasn't sure of a whole lot, but he was sure that he needed to find out if he had what it took to be with Allison Cameron. She challenged him in every possible way and he found himself craving that.

OOOO

At six fifty-five, Allison was at House's door trying to stop her hand from shaking before she knocked. This was her last shot, and she knew it. She had left her cell-phone and pager in the car. She had looked around the street in front of House's place searching for signs of James Wilson. Nothing. Hopefully, House had not ordered take-out, and, hopefully, there would be no calls from Foreman, who was again staying with their patient at the hospital. She would kill him if he called. It was time to fish or cut bait, as her dad would've said.

She looked down at her clothes and for a moment reconsidered her choice of outfit. Jeans and a college t-shirt would just have to do. As far as she was concerned, this was their third date – she didn't care anymore what he said about the monster truck thing – and third dates called for casual wear. If he had a corsage waiting, she'd just have to pin it to the shirt. Grey made a good backdrop for anything.

She knocked, maybe a little too loudly, and hoped that she wouldn't collapse from fear.

When he opened the door, she was relieved to see that he was also in jeans and a t-shirt. Actually, she wasn't too thrilled that he wasn't wearing something to cover up his arms. They just one more reason that she liked him a little too much, and she needed to keep her head about her.

He stood back as she walked in and looked around the place. "Wilson here?" She asked.

"No. I told him that if he called or came within a hundred yards of the place, I'd castrate him."

She wrinkled up her nose. "Well, that ought to work."

"I told Foreman the same thing. I don't think he was quite as intimidated, but I don't think he'll be bothering us." He motioned for her to sit. "In a further attempt to have no interruptions, I've actually done the cooking. I'm not sure that was a great idea, but it might be better than a visit from a sixteen year-old delivery boy."

"Oh. What did you make?" She hopped up from the couch like a spring had popped under her seat and headed for the kitchen. "Can I help with anything?"

He smiled. At least he wasn't the only one who was nervous. He reached out to stop her as she walked by. "I made spaghetti. The bachelor's choice. Also the only thing I can make from scratch. The sauce needs at least another hour to simmer." She just looked at him. "Go sit back down, Allison."

"Right." She turned around and shuffled back to the couch, where she perched on the edge and resumed her inspection of the place.

He resumed his inspection of her. She looked like she had just come out of the sorority house, but he had to remind himself that she hadn't. He told himself that when most girls had been rushing pledges, she had been burying her husband. He didn't want to focus on such morbid things, but it helped him to remember that in some ways, she was just as screwed up as he was. She wasn't an innocent girl walking into this blind, which was something he had not been willing to see until the mess the week before.

Just as he was about to start in with the topic they were there to discuss, she noted, "Wilson told me once that you had a piano. I didn't realize that it would be a baby grand." She stood up and walked over to the instrument, her back to House.

Still the great ass, he thought. Aloud, he asked, "Do you play?"

"Academically. I was a good girl and took classes, but there was never any artistry in what I played." She hit a chord. "Will you play something?"

"Nope." He walked over to his armchair. "Sit down. Time to get this show on the road."

She sighed. "You're right." She took her place on the couch again.

She surprised him by opening the conversation with, "So, do you still think I'm trying to fix you?"

"Ouch. Glad to see you still don't avoid the messy subjects."

"No point in that. Nothing is neat, especially not with you."

"And you're seriously willing to deal with that?"

"Seriously."

He was considering what to say next when she asked again, "Do you?"

He didn't try to pretend that he didn't know what she meant. "I'm not sure. I can't think of any other reason a beautiful, young woman like you would want to be with me." He went out on a limb by voicing his thoughts from earlier, "Unless you're just as screwed up as I am."

"Maybe I am." She smiled and noticed his long fingers tapping on his knees. "Makes us a pretty interesting pair, wouldn't you say?"

"That's one word for it." At some point in the previous two minutes, House had realized that she wasn't going to get up and walk out. She wasn't there to tell him that she was resigning or that she had decided that he was too much effort. Good time to broach a touchy subject.

"What about work?" He asked, certain that this would be the breaking point.

"Work?" She realized he was trying to lay everything out, and she thought it was kind of cute. "Well, I still have some time left in my fellowship and a contract I have no intention of breaking again. I guess that I'll just finish it out and we can see what happens from there."

"It won't bother you?"

"What, having you as my boss? Not any more than it does now." She grinned and stood again. As she walked toward him, she started ticking things off on her fingers. "Let's see, we've covered our insecurities, work, and the fact that you can't cook." She stopped in front of him. "Have we forgotten anything?"

"Can _you_ cook?" He staring intently at her, the kitchen the last thing on his mind. There was really only one more topic they needed to explore.

"Nope." She leaned over and put her hands on the arms of the chair. "But I have no problem with spaghetti."

He reached his hands up to her hips and splayed his fingers wide. "Too bad I lied about the sauce. It's from a jar." He pulled her towards him.

"Will it burn?" she whispered.

"Not even in the pan yet."

"Good."

He pulled her in and they were both smiling as their lips met for the first time. He was shocked at the feeling. It was like gold where they touched. He moved his hands up to her waist and brought her to sit on his left leg, but he never moved his mouth from hers. He framed her face and deepened the kiss, wanting as much as she would let him have.

Allison wasn't sure that what she was feeling wasn't pain. It was so piercing that she had tears behind her tightly closed eyes. An excited warmth radiated out from her chest and into her arms and legs. She should have been prepared for the intensity that he would inspire, but she hadn't considered that it might be like it was.

She tried hard to covey what she knew he wasn't comfortable hearing yet, and he was trying to tell her what he was incapable of saying with words. They were smooth and gentle and burning and clinging. They broke apart only to catch quick breaths, and then they rushed back to each other.

After a while, the beautiful moments turned into heated groping, rough and impatient. When his hands pushed their way under her t-shirt, he brushed one of her ticklish spots. She jumped and laughed, but then froze when she saw the look of pain that shot across his face.

"Oh, God. I hit your leg didn't I?" She tried to stand, but he held her where she was. "Do you need your pills?"

"No," he growled, and he pulled her back to him.

OOOO

Some time later, a group of interns who had stopped in front of the diagnostic conference room to chat suddenly scurried away as the sound of House's cane slamming against the table scared the devil out of them.

"Can't you come up with something better than that?"

"We have tried it your way. We have tried it Foreman's way. And we have tried it Chase's way. None of you were correct, so why shouldn't we try my idea?"

"Because it's too simple. Look at this." There was another whack with the cane, this time against the much less sturdy surface of the white board. "There are too many symptoms for it to be that easy."

"Well, at least you didn't say it was moronic," chimed in an amused Wilson, "because _your_ logic is holding up so well here."

"Shut up."

"You know, it wouldn't hurt to give my idea a try," said Cameron in a precisely calm voice. "Not anymore than the dozen unnecessary tests you've put the poor kid through have anyway."

House and Cameron glared at each other. "Fine. Go do what you think is best. We clearly don't have anything better to try."

Foreman, Chase, and Wilson walked out the door, with Cameron following close behind.

"Allison."

"What?" she snapped.

He limped over to her. "What've you planned for dinner tonight?"

"I have planned to eat whatever you bring home," she tapped him on his scruffy cheek, "but I absolutely refuse to eat spaghetti again. So don't even think about it."

When she left the room, they were both feeling a little smug.

**End**


End file.
